The little, ancient town of Trogir lay some twelve miles to the south of
the demarcation line. Its inhabitants, with the exception of five
Italophil families, are Yugoslav; and in the month of September 1919 the
Yugoslav army was represented by eight men. Truth compels us to mention
that on a certain night these men, instead of doing patrol duty, were
sleeping off the effects of a carouse; and when the townsfolk looked out
of their windows in the morning they saw machine guns and Italian
soldiers. At 4 a.m. they had crept into the town with the help of a
certain Conte Nino di Fanfogna, who had assembled a National Guard of
thirty peasants, the employees of those five families. Conte Nino was
striding to and fro; he muttered threats of death. Some of the chief
men, such as Dr. Marin Katalini['c], Dr. Peter Sentinella and others,
came together and were at a loss for some effective means to chase out
the Italians, since they had not even a revolver. An American boat
appeared, but the captain, when appealed to, said that he was only
cruising and could not come ashore. In the town hall Count Nino,
labouring under some excitement, dismissed the mayor; and when Ferri,
the mayor, told him to go about his business, he protested that he was
the dictator and would, if necessary, use force. Outside in the square
the Italians and the people stood face to face, and suddenly a few
Yugoslav flags were fluttering, and then an old man, Dr. Sentinella's
father, climbed up to the place in the town hall where the Italian flag
had been hoisted. He tore it down. The soldiers were for shooting him,
but the people began pulling the rifles out of their hands. Other
soldiers, full of apprehension, dropped their rifles; the people picked
them up, and those who were unacquainted with the mechanism cried out
certain awe-inspiring sounds. Women and children--I fear this will not
be believed; it is none the less true--women and children removed some
of the men's helmets, and one group of children turned a helmet into a
football. "I am a father of a family!" cried a soldier. "I am innocent,
I have been deceived!" cried another. "O, Mama mia!" cried a third. They
wept, they bolted into the courtyards, and the women showed them little
mercy, for they tore off the men's belts and even struck them with their
fists. A Mrs. Sunjara routed four men and went home with their machine
gun on her back. In a few minutes the square was free of soldiers, and
forty rifles were stacked in the town hall. Fifty soldiers on the quay
were dealt with by a butcher who started firing at them; when they heard
the shouts of the approaching crowd they threw down their weapons and
fled. Two large motors escaped; the third was intercepted at the bridge,
and although young Sentinella, who ordered them to stop, had forgotten
his own rifle, they all--thirteen men and two officers--threw theirs
away. It was suggested that the running soldiers should be pursued.
"No," said an old man, "for we would kill them all. Let them rather go
back without arms or helmets. It will frighten the others." ... Two
hours later a party of Serbian soldiers arrived, but they were not
needed, save for the protection of those who had thrown in their lot
with the Italians. From Split, a few miles away, 1500 volunteers, who
speedily assembled, came with knives or agricultural implements or any
other weapon. "The Yugoslavs must realize," said Nitti, "that it is to
their interest to maintain sincere relations of friendship with Italy."