The days which brought us nearer to our venture ran on. On May 15th,
there was a full sitting at Camp Marcon with Colonel Smaniotto present,
to the end that we might disclose to him all we had determined. Lieut.
De Carli also took part in the meeting and he explained his plan for
arriving at Tiezzo di Pordenone.
I collected in a manuscript everything which concerned my departure and
the methods of communication and signaling. What yet remained to be
determined was the means to be adopted for returning to our own
territory, if such a return were possible. I proposed that we make use
of two mediums, the aeroplane and motorboat.... About a month after our
departure an Italian reconnoitring plane was to let fall a volley of
three shots from the sky over Vittorio. Two days after we had observed
this signal we were to be found in such a field as shall have been
determined upon and upon which we shall have already alighted at two in
the morning. The “Voisin” would fly very low over the field and if
Captain Gelmetti observed certain lights gleaming in the small trenches
which were near the field, he would make a landing and we would depart
with him. If the weather were unfavorable, the attempt was to be
repeated the subsequent night. But we could not rely on one method only
for the return. It was better to have some alternate way available.
I proposed that the silent naval motorboat, aforementioned, cruise
during the nights from June 20 to June 30 in front of the port of
Caorle, about two miles east of it. It was to keep about two hundred
yards from the coast, in order that, should it hear the song of a
cuckoo (such was to be our signal) it might send a rowboat to fetch us.
All this was to take place at two in the morning. It seemed to me that
I had thought of everything; it seemed to me that I had studied all the
details.
Our front had been divided into many sectors each of which had a
special number, and the established phrase, “the wolf will not return
towards such and such a number” signified that the enemy intended to
attack that sector of the front. Colonel Smaniotto was well pleased
with my plan and with my personal appearance which was really most
encouraging. My beard had really assumed tremendous proportions and it
bothered me considerably. That night the light of the moon was bright
enough to permit us to experiment on landing without lights. Captain
Gelmetti had placed himself at our disposal for the necessary trials.
For experiments with the silencer the officer who invented the
apparatus had come purposely from headquarters, together with some
expert mechanics for whom we had sent in a request.
At about ten o’clock at night we ascended from the field at Marcon and
after several landings with the help of searchlights the pilot
attempted a landing without the use of any lights and his management
was so skillful that we were not conscious of the moment in which we
touched ground. I was truly astonished at the familiarity with which
Bottecchia viewed aeroplanes. During the flight I watched him closely
to see if he showed any signs of fear, or if he held onto the sides of
the seat as most beginners do. He really conducted himself valiantly
and no sudden move or action belied the faith I had placed in him. The
officers who were present at the experiments told me that when the
motor was turning slowly and the silencer was working the plane made
only a slight noise which was scarcely audible even to those standing
directly beneath.
I told another person about my plans, Lieut. Manfredi Lanza di Trabia,
brother of Ignatius, one of my dearest friends who disappeared
mysteriously during the retreat from Caporetto and from whom I have had
no more news. However, considering all the circumstances, we still
believed him to be alive, perhaps because we loved him too well to
permit ourselves to believe that he has disappeared forever. To
Manfredi also I promised to send a postcard with the conventional word,
“arrivederci,” which would be the sign of my departure.
Several changes were made in the silencer because it became over-heated
too rapidly. We hoped that it would now function properly. But the
weather which had been clear up to date, changed and seemed determined
to thwart our plans.
On May 26 there was a full moon. The nights favorable for attempting
our project were to last only until the first of June. After that we
should be compelled to relinquish our plan or to devise some other way.
Days of cruel alternation passed, and we were continually standing with
our faces turned upward to the sky in the hope of espying some bit of
azure among the thick clouds which crowded overhead. This inclement
weather made us nervous, uncertain, whereas we needed a great deal of
calm to be in the proper mood for our attempt.
Colonel Smaniotto gave me 2000 Austrian crowns that I be not encumbered
by too much coin. In case I needed more money I was to send a notice to
them by means of a carrier pigeon. This idea of carrying Austrian crowns
with me was not very agreeable because it would be a compromising fact
and grave accusation against us were we to be captured. However, I
decided to keep the suspicious roll always in my hand and at the first
alarm to throw it away so as not to be surprised with it. I also had to
sign a statement for the supreme command in which I declared that I was
undertaking the feat absolutely of my own volition and that I was not
compelled or coerced by any external pressure. I am truly proud of this
document. My soldier also signed a similar document very willingly.
It really seemed as if all the clouds of the Veneto had made an
appointment with one another to meet over our field. In vain we sought
a sign which would let us hope for a happy solution. It was now the
thirtieth of May, so there were but two more nights at our disposal.
After that we should have to bid “adieu” to our plan fostered for so
long. It was torture to think that our presence on the other side would
be of extraordinary value just then, because from the answers to
questions asked of Czech prisoners we knew that the Austrian offensive
could not be delayed much longer. Therefore, our enforced pause was all
the more dangerous, because beside necessitating a new scheme of
preparations, it might also result in our arriving across the Piave too
late.
Gelmetti’s mood was insupportable. Instead of trying to comfort one
another we were continually irritating and provoking our companions. We
were annoyed, spiteful one with the other, as though each one of us
were the cause of our painful delay.
The barometer on the morning of May 31, had risen slightly, but still I
did not see any sign of clearing; the rain continued to beat madly
against the windows of our hangar. I contemplated with love and wrath
the great metal skeleton of our apparatus, resting heavily on its
wheels. The huge canvas of the hangar struggled violently with the
bonds which fastened it to the ground. Suddenly a tiny ray of sunlight
illumined the canvas hanging limp and damp. I leapt out onto the field.
The direction of the wind had changed. The rain had miraculously
stopped, and the storm clouds were fleeing towards the sea. In the
background the bluish mountains with their snow-capped tops were
outlined against the distant horizon.
It seemed as if there were fair weather on the other side of the Piave.
We would soon know from the reports of such chasing planes as had left
this morning. Meanwhile, there was not a moment to be lost. It was
three in the afternoon and there was much to be done ere we left.
Quickly I telephoned to headquarters and the voice of Colonel Smaniotto
answered me. He was delighted at the unexpected turn of events.
“Sir, if you offer no opposition we have decided to leave to-night.”
“What opposition should I have? On the other hand, I am elated at this
brief respite which has come so suddenly. One of our proverbs says
there is no Saturday without a bit of sun, but to-day is Friday. I’ll
see you shortly.”
Everything was going well. The only thing that annoyed me was that the
day was Friday. We Italians are a bit superstitious and it did not seem
expedient to start a project of this nature on a Friday. I confessed my
doubts to Gelmetti and he braced me by scolding me. “How foolish you
are! Don’t you really want to take advantage of this respite which may
be the only one? For I am convinced that the weather is still unsettled
and remains determined to be crazy. If we do not leave to-night, we can
forsake our project forever.” I let myself be convinced, but a little
unwillingly.
Gelmetti was radiant, and was dressing himself in his toilette for
great occasions, for we aviators are habitually dirty and oil-stained
while at camp, but the moment we have to leave for a flight or some
special action, we become fastidious and dandified; we don our best
outfits, for we must be clean and elegant when we face the enemy, when
we face death.
I too, had to consider my toilette, because I did not think my coat
with the yellow collar would be the most suitable for such an
undertaking. I donned a soldier’s coat with the distinguishing mark of
the observer on the sleeve, and I prepared my observer’s tally for I
decided to take it with me, as is customary with all aviators.
Through the window I observed that the “Voisin” was out on the field
and that they were filling her up with the supplies of gasoline and
oil. One of the mechanics had jumped up onto a wing and with a large
can was filling the feed above the wing. His demeanor was that of a
tranquil trainer who knows his beast; he was singing snatches of a song
popular among our soldiers:
“Oh rare, delightful sweetheart Beloved and sought by all, You are
that dear strange creature, For whom by chance we fall.”
Another mechanic was testing the motor with his fingers on the gas
control to see the response of the six powerful cylinders. To me, whose
ear is well trained after many flights over the enemy, the motor
appeared to function well, and this gave me great confidence. A
lieutenant from the general staff who is a specialist in the use of the
silencer, was explaining to Gelmetti how to set the silencer in action.
After a brief discussion they decided that we were not to use this
attachment on leaving our territory, but to ascend with open exhaust
and use the silencer only when we had arrived in enemy territory where
it would be necessary to make no noise. These precautions were
necessary so as not to strain the motor.
How rapidly my life seemed to flee during those hours, those minutes
which still separated me from the moment when I should find myself face
to face with the reality against which I have prepared and which I have
long desired.
I entreated Colonel Smaniotto to communicate to my family that I was
well every time he received a pigeon with a message from me. He
promised to do it, and I was contented because I did not like my people
to remain for long without news of me. However, I had to notify my
father that I should be far away for a long time. I had had a
photograph of myself with my beard taken, and above it I wrote the
date, May 23, to recall the other 23rd of May, the day on which Italy
entered the war. Had I no other joy in the world, it would suffice me
to know that Italy was not beneath the other great powers and that she
too had taken sides with righteousness and liberty. In sending to my
father a last message before my departure I wrote the following lines
with great emotion, “May 31, 1918. Dear father,—I beg of you not to
worry if you do not receive a message from me for a long time. I am
leaving on a special mission, and I do not believe I shall be able to
communicate with you directly, but you will receive news of my
condition from headquarters. I ask this new sacrifice of you in the
name of the suffering lands which are waiting for us. May we meet
again. A kiss to you.... (P.S. I shall bring a greeting to mother from
you.)” My mother is buried at Vittorio and from the closing words he
would understand the destination of my mission. This was the only hint
I gave my father of where I intended going.
Bottecchia and the De Carli brothers were eating. My soldier, who has a
sturdy exterior, was storing as much food as he could in his inside,
for he feared, with reason, that it would be difficult to find food on
the other side. I, on the contrary, when I am about to undertake
something important can swallow only a very small quantity and a sober
repast is sufficient to appease my appetite. Night fell slowly over the
field, and I lighted a lamp so I might see to write two postcards to my
distant friends. On each one I wrote “arrivederci” and my name. They
will understand. Every promise is an obligation, and Luisa and Manfredi
were awaiting this signal from me to know that I had left.
The telephone bell rang unexpectedly. They wanted me at once at
headquarters because his Highness the Duke of Aosta wished to see me
before I left. In an open car we sped along the endless line of budding
poplar trees whose silent shadows were traced on the white road. The
trunks in front of us stood bold and upright against the red of the
sunset. From the pools and ditches a light fog arose and escaped in a
mist towards the sky where the first stars began to twinkle.
The villa of the Duke of Aosta stood in the center of Mogliano, and
there were no marks which distinguished it from the surrounding villas,
save that the flowers were more carefully cultivated. The Duke’s dogs
playfully greeted the visitors. His Highness was expecting us in the
broad ante-chamber. He clasped my hand, and we had a long affable talk
together. His tall figure, which became slightly bent after Caporetto,
has all the majesty of his race; expressing at the same time a certain
paternal goodness. His face furrowed by nights of anxiety and watching,
expresses the ability and habit of command; his clear, penetrating eyes
are accustomed to look fate well in the face. The Duke wished to know
in detail all we planned to do. He knew the broad outlines and Colonel
Smaniotto and I explained a few details he did not know. He noticed
that I had changed the collar of my uniform and I told him the reason
which induced me to make the change and the displeasure I felt at not
being able to bear upon the other side the colors of my regiment to
which I am still devoted. Before we left, he again clasped my hand
firmly and with a steady voice in which there was barely a shadow of
emotion, said, “I thank you for what you are about to attempt. I am
convinced of the usefulness of your enterprise, and I am certain you
will help us greatly in those days when the enemy hurls against us all
his desperate strength. I thank you as a Prince and as an Italian, and
you know I am a good Italian.”
I know that his Royal Highness is a good Italian and I felt that in
difficult moments, in moments when I should have to dare and risk all,
the memory of that dear, austere face, would be a great help and
comfort in the fulfillment of my duty.
I left the house of the Duke of Aosta, moved not by what I was about to
undertake but by what he said to me. There was not much time to lose,
yet I dearly wished to give a farewell greeting to Lieutenant Lanza di
Camastra who is the uncle of my intimate friend Ignatius Lanza di
Trabia. He is very intimate with his Royal Highness, knew of our plans,
but since he wished to be present at my departure he begged me to send
for him. In the little courtyard of the villa in which he lived I found
several officers who offered me a small glass of cognac. I relished it,
sipping it to the last delicious drop, certain that on the other side I
should find nothing of the kind. I was very pleased to spend a few
moments with Lieutenant di Camastra because I wished to speak to him of
Ignatius who we hoped was still alive and interned in some distant
German camp. The thought of this dear friend had often given me
strength to overcome the innumerable difficulties which presented
themselves before arriving at this point. With gratitude I listened to
the words of di Camastra who assured me that Ignatius would be proud
could he see me depart.
Before leaving my mother-country, since I was certain I should not be
able to return, I wished to be at peace with my conscience, and
accompanied by my dear friend we went towards the vicarage of Mogliano
where there was a priest who could take my confession. After knocking
repeatedly at the gate, an old priest, who wondered why unknown
visitors should come to disturb him at so late an hour, thrust his head
from behind the door. At last he opened the door and led me into a
small, low room where there was a prayerstool.... For a moment I
reviewed swiftly the events of my life, and alas, there were only a few
actions for which I needed not to be repentant. God is good, I thought,
and will heed my sincere prayer. So when the priest absolved me, I felt
that to all the strength I had before there had been added the new
strength which comes to those who feel they are pure.