Three hours previously to this a torpedo-boat, with Paolucci and
Rossetti on board, had sailed from Venice; and at ten o'clock in the
evening, as Paolucci tells us,[4] he and his companion, after a certain
amount of embracing, handshaking, saluting and loyal exclamations,
plunged into the water. The first obstacle was a wooden pier upon which
sentries were marching to and fro; this was safely passed by means of
two hats shaped like bottles, which Paolucci and Rossetti now put on.
The bombs were submerged, and thus the sentry saw nothing but a couple
of bottles being tossed about by the waves. A row of wooden beams,
bearing a thin electric wire, had then to be negotiated, and the last
obstacle consisted of half a dozen steel nets which had laboriously to
be disconnected from the cables which held them. It was now nearly six
o'clock; the two men cautiously approached the _Viribus Unitis_ and
fixed one of their bombs just below the water-line, underneath the
ladder conducting to the deck. Paolucci simply records, without comment,
that the ship was illuminated; perhaps he and his friend were too tired
to make the obvious deduction that the hourly-expected end of the War
had really arrived. A number of officers from other ships had remained
on the _Viribus Unitis_ after the previous evening's ceremony; but the
look-out, seeing the Italians in the water, must have thought it was
eccentric of them to come swimming out at this hour to join in the
festivities. A motor-launch soon picked them up and they were brought on
board the flag-ship. "Viva l'Italia!" they shouted, for they were proud
of dying for their country. "Viva l'Italia!" replied some of the crew to
this pair of allied officers. When they were conducted to Captain
Vukovi['c] they told him that his vessel would in a short time be blown
up. The order was given to abandon ship, and Paolucci and his friend
relate[5] that when they asked the captain if they might also try to
save themselves he shook them both by the hand, saying that they were
brave men and that they deserved to live. So they plunged into the water
and swam rapidly away, but a few minutes later they were picked up by a
launch and taken back, the captain having suddenly begun to suspect,
they said, that the story of the bomb was untrue. They were again made
to walk up the ladder, under which lay the explosives. It was then 6.28.
The ladder was crowded with sailors who were also returning to their
ship. "Run, run for your lives," shouted Paolucci. At last his foot
touched the deck, and then he and Rossetti ran as fast as they could to
the stern. Hardly had they got there than a terrific explosion rent the
air, and a column of water shot three hundred feet straight up into the
sky. Paolucci and Rossetti were again in the water, and looking back
they saw a man scramble up the side of the vessel, which had now turned
completely over, with her keel uppermost. There on the keel stood this
man, with folded arms. It was Vukovi['c], who had insisted on going down
with his ship. About fifty other men were killed.
When Koch came out of his house, feeling that there must be no more
delay in sending the radiogram to President Wilson, a young Italian
Socialist ran up to him in the street and told him of the fate of the
flagship. As the news spread everyone thought it must be the work of
some Austrian officers. It was feared that they would explode the
arsenal, and that would have meant the destruction of the whole town.
Amid the uproar and chaos, Koch had placards distributed, saying that
the _Viribus Unitis_ had been torpedoed by two Italians, who were in
custody. And then the wireless was sent to Paris.
The two officers were taken to the Admiralty and then placed on the
dreadnought _Prince Eugene_, it being rumoured that the Italians of Pola
intended to rescue them. Subsequently Koch and other officers, together
with Dr. Stani['c], President of the Italian National Council, went out
to see the prisoners. Stani['c] was left alone with them for as long as
he wished. And when Koch saw them--he did not then shake hands--and
asked if they knew what they had done, "I know it," replied Rossetti
rather arrogantly. Paolucci's demeanour was more modest.
"I was your friend all through the War," said Koch, "and now you sink
our ships. I can only assume that you were ignorant of what had taken
place."
They said that that was so.
"But if you had known," said the Admiral to Rossetti, "would you have
done this?"
"Yes," he answered. "I am an officer. I had my orders to blow up the
ship and I would have obeyed them."
Koch had undertaken that if it turned out that they were unaware of the
ship's transference to the Yugoslavs he would kiss them both. He did so,
and allowed them to communicate with Italy by wireless.
Never, says Koch, will the unpleasant taste of those kisses leave his
mouth. The men were officers; their words could not be doubted. But as
they must surely have been in Venice for at least a day or two before
October 31, it seems extraordinary that they did not hear, via Triest,
of what the Emperor Charles was doing with his navy. If only they had
perfected their invention and learned to swim a trifle sooner there
would be no shadow cast on their achievement, but the Yugoslavs--who had
never seen any sort of Italian naval attack on Pola during the
War--could not be blamed for thinking that the disappearance of their
_Viribus Unitis_ would be viewed with equanimity by the Italians....
With regard to the other vessels, it was arranged in Paris that they
should proceed, under the white flag, to Corfu with Yugoslav commanders;
but this was found impossible, as they were undermanned. Part of the
fleet arrived at Kotor and was placed at the disposal of the commander
of the Yugoslav detachment of the Allied forces which had come from
Macedonia. A serious episode occurred at Pola, where on November 5 an
Italian squadron arrived and demanded the surrender of the ships. The
Yugoslav commander succeeded in sending by wireless a strong protest to
Paris against this barefaced violation of the agreement. The Italian
commander, Admiral Cagni, likewise sent a protest, but Clemenceau upheld
the Yugoslavs. They were absolutely masters of the ex-Austro-Hungarian
fleet; it rested solely with them either to sink it or hand it over to
the Allies in good condition. The Yugoslavs did not sink the fleet,
because they wished to show their loyalty to, and confidence in, the
justice of the Allies. They never suspected at that time that the ships
would not be shared at least equally between themselves and the
Italians. But in December 1919 the Supreme Council in Paris allotted to
the Yugoslavs twelve disarmed torpedo-boats for policing and patrolling
their coasts.