VIII

Time, 1:30 A.M. On the field there are a lot of people going to and

fro. Many friends have come to bid me goodby. Even though I have spoken

to very few about the adventure, still many know of it. With Colonel

Smaniotto there are on the field several officers of the staff, Colonel

Novellis of the Aviation, the Honorable Miari of the kite-balloon

division, and many other of my aviator friends who wish to be present

at my departure. I have taken with me a map as a precaution, for the

weather which seemed most favorable at first has gradually become

foggy, and since even the upper atmosphere does not seem very clear, it

may be difficult to get our bearings. However, I am certain that once I

have arrived in enemy territory, or rather in my own home town, I shall

not need any map. Our fur-lined leather coats and our helmets are ready

and lie folded on the wing. The mechanics are busy about the motor, one

gives a last look at the spark-plugs, another at the magneto, another

at the gasoline feed, so that once departed we shall have no unpleasant

surprises. Gelmetti is already at his place and is trying the levers. A

groundman has turned the propeller and in the calm of the night nothing

can be heard but the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the

frogs which are telling of their loves from the ditches. There arises

the deep and powerful roar of the motor and from the curved arches of

the hangars the echo answers so that it seems as if several machines

were in motion in the distance. The moon is rising, and as I see her

again after so many days of rain, she seems smaller, and I wonder how

my pilot will be able to make a landing on unknown ground with so

little light.

De Carli who probably will soon attempt a similar feat stands near me.

There is in the eyes of all such great anxiety, emotion so deep that I

ask myself why I too, should not feel moved. Lieutenant Simoni asks me

if I feel as calm as at other times when I am about to leave for a war

flight, and I answer him that I am certain I should not feel so calm if

I were seeing another leaving in my place. Many of the pilots of

chasing machines of the 77th squadron are present and among them

Lieutenant Marazzani, one of our aces who has brought with him his

little fox terrier.

“Before starting on a flight,” he tells me, “I always touch the nose of

Bobby, and, as you see, I have always returned. You do the same, and

you’ll see it will bring you good luck.”

He does not have to beg me twice, and I pass my hand over the damp nose

of Bobby who looks at me with his intelligent eyes as though to ask me

what unusual thing is happening, for he is not accustomed to seeing

planes leave at night. Everything is ready. I have the money in a

small roll. Bottecchia has in his pocket a bar of chocolate, and I

have brought with me my talisman which has been with me in every

undertaking, an old crucifix of silver, a family heirloom which has

been in many wars and many battles with my ancestors. We are in the

plane and in place of the small observer’s seat they have fastened a

small wooden board on which two of us must manage to sit. But the

place is very narrow, and both Bottecchia and myself are not very

comfortable. The inside of our “cabane” is lighted by blue lamps upon

the dashboard and I hold in my hand a small lamp fastened to a long

wire with which to watch the manometer which marks the oil pressure and

the gasoline feed tube. The motor is hitting in all cylinders. Gelmetti

advances and retards the accelerator and the machine pulses and

vibrates, held back by the wedges under the wheels and the mechanics

who are holding it by the shaking wings. The “Voisin” seems to have

found again its youth and seems eager to start the flight. The

indicator marks 1300 revolutions. Everything seems to be proceeding

regularly.

“Are we ready?” I ask Gelmetti. We button up our overcoats and buckle

our helmets under our chins. Many hands are extended towards us. Some

of the men clamber up on the large springs of the wheels to embrace me,

and although the wool of my helmet covers nearly all my face, still I

feel something moist on my skin. They surely are not my tears!...

Bobby, jubilant at the sound of the motor going at full speed, begins

to bark, and his master throws a stone down the field for Bobby to

chase so that he will not disturb us, and so that I may exchange in

quiet a few more words with Colonel Smaniotto.

“Above all I urge you to specify the sector and the day of the

offensive, and secondly the location of troops.”

Gelmetti slackens the motor, the mechanics remove the wedges from under

the wheels and the plane is free and ready for the flight. We rise to

our feet to give a final salute, and an indescribable emotion comes

into the faces of all. The plane begins to move and our cry of “Viva

L’Italia,” is drowned by the roar of the motor whose pulsations grow

ever quicker and faster. The grass flits rapidly under the wheels. A

slight jerk, a slight start, and we are in the air. What were living

persons near us, what were houses, have become specks, have become

infinitesimal statuettes against the dark background of the earth.

I see certain small red lamps on the tops of trees, I see the red lamp

which marks the chimney of the furnace near the field. The great

scaffolding from which the searchlights usually hurl upward the streams

of their light, is lost in the night’s darkness. The little canal which

passes near the hangars glitters distinctly and along the plain

traversed by roads and streams of water, many tranquil lamps are

glowing. Along the road which leads from the field to the highway of

Mogliano the searchlights of the automobiles leaving the field follow

us. We turn slowly, and—as is always the case when in a plane—we feel

as if we were still. We are now traveling towards Mestre and beyond we

see the mirror of the glittering lagoon which the moon silvers with a

thousand tiny flames, and in the background where sky and sea mingle in

a dark gray mist, we can imagine Venice arising from the water.

The conditions of visibility are not good, and the fog instead of

diminishing as we ascend becomes gradually more opaque. A swift,

boisterous wind shakes the wings of the plane which slopes to the right

and to the left according to the movements of the pilot. At times the

entire machine vibrates and we feel ourselves so closely bound in its

flight that often we believe its wings are attached to our very

shoulders. As I look back at the oil guides I see the sparks from the

exhaust tube escaping rapidly like a swarm of fireflies swept by the

wind. The tube of the silencer which is fastened onto the motor,

although the exhaust remains at present completely open, is red and

incandescent. I ask myself anxiously what will happen, when, having

crossed the enemy’s lines, we shall have to make use of the silencer. I

look at the altimeter; we have already arisen to a height of three

thousand feet, and beneath us are outlined the walls and towers of

Treviso. The tracks of the Treviso-Venice railroad sparkle in the light

of the moon, and on the fields in the small pools of stagnant water,

the light is reflected. Several searchlights placed about the city turn

like sentinels of the air, but their rays do not strike us for they are

not searching in our direction. The white clouds slide above our heads

hiding at intervals the moon which appears again and again between the

wings of the aeroplane. The fog becomes ever denser. The wind

increases, changing at times into sudden gusts, rapid vortices, and

brief eddies. I hold my head low so as to offer as little resistance as

possible to the blowing currents, and Bottecchia does likewise,

pressing close to me. The calm hands of the pilot tightly gripped on

the “joy-stick” move from right to left with automatic gestures. The

motor does not seem to be operating well, and I whose sense of smell

has become extremely sensitive to the odor of burning rubber—since

the day when following an encounter my plane took fire near the

ground—sniff about attentively to discover if there is anything

burning. The indicator still marks 1400 revolutions. This is a

reassuring sign. We are at 6900 feet. I do not believe we have to climb

any higher, and tapping Gelmetti on the shoulder, I point out to him

the direction of the front.

Beneath us towards the Piave, which glimmers indistinctly in the east,

the fireworks of our troops on guard in the trenches shower forth.

Occasionally a ray with a parachute falls more slowly and vividly

illuminates a small tract beneath us. A few flashes and unexpected

streaks tell us that our artillery is firing prohibited shots. The sky

about us is thick with the flashes of many shrapnel which shoot up in

the air like fireworks. An anti-aircraft battery is firing at us. The

rain of fire approaches and recedes according to the moment, and

occasionally the explosion of a well-aimed shot is heard as it hisses

past the plane. The pilot changes his course so as not to be hit. I am

curious to know who is firing. I bend forward in my seat and beneath us

in our territory, I see the parting flashes of several anti-aircraft

shots which have begun a barrage fire. Immediately after, in the

direction of Treviso I see huge flashes on the ground as if large

projectiles had fallen on the city. Now I understand! Our batteries are

not firing against us, for they have certainly been informed by the

observation posts that an Italian plane is flying over them, but their

fire is directed against the enemy planes which are bombarding Treviso.

We must be on the alert, for evidently there are many enemy planes

about, and I should not care to run into a plane with the cross

designed on it.

We are passing over Montello, all bent and shriveled, which reminds me

of the configuration of the Carso. At the foot of the mountain I

recognize Giavera and almost on the banks of the Piave, Narvesa

shimmers. We are about to enter enemy territory. The broad flow of the

Piave, which separates into various currents among the whitish masses

of the islands, clearly outlines to us the flow of its impetuous

waters. The supports torn from the bridge of the Priola arise towards

us like the stumps of a mutilated arm and farther down, the river

widens its course towards the Grave di Pappadopoli and the sector of

the front where the Bersaglieri of the 8th Regiment are stationed. Even

Bottecchia recognizes the places in which he fought recently and points

out to me Isola Maggiore, separated from Isola Caserta by a short,

narrow current. All these strips of land which formerly were nought but

unformed heaps of stones, now have a history, and on every one of them

both the belligerent nations have tried to establish defenses, to

construct outposts and small stations for machine guns.

“_Oh rare, delightful sweetheart_” ... the familiar melody is recalled

by the buzzing of the motor and repeats itself continually in my ears.

At times while listening to the powerful voice of the “Isotta” I feel

as if there were many instruments playing in the night and the

alternating melodies and varying modulations in the orchestration

recall the classic symphonies in which the greatest artists of sound

have expressed with majestic power the rhythmic significance of their

thought and the fury of their passions.

The Castle of Saint Salvador appears on top of the hills and although

our guns must have fired at it frequently it still preserves its

original structure and the heavy tower, which has something German

about it, still rests on the high sloping roof. This castle belongs to

an Austrian and, perhaps because his countrymen have spared it,

undeviating justice has loosed against it the fury of our guns. The

reverse of the hills which point towards Conegliano slopes slowly

towards the hills of Pieve di Soligo, while the broad road of Susegana

and Conegliano glimmers distinctly beneath us.

Gelmetti has inserted the handle of the silencer, and as though by

magic the concert of the marvelous instruments which had echoed many

distant songs in my mind ceases. We now feel as if we were sliding

through air, the same impression one feels while coasting in an

automobile whose engine has been shut off.

The enemy territory is less illuminated than ours. The lights in the

villages are scarce, and there are few searchlights turned towards us.

As though by magic the enemy anti-aircraft batteries become silent. The

reason for their silence is obvious; the Austrians have many of their

own bombing planes in the sky and they certainly have not noticed the

slight humming of our motor. Along the road of Susegana to Conegliano

Pordenone, great green lights are lit from which many colored rays

shoot forth at intervals. It is the first time I have observed those

lights in enemy territory but I have heard about them from Lieutenant

Ancilotto who often goes on nocturnal flights to try to down some enemy

bombing plane which finds in the obscurity of the night the courage to

attempt what it dares not in the daytime. These signals are placed at

convenient intervals so that if some enemy plane loses its way in the

fog and cannot find its bearings, all it need do is to fly low over the

lights which often indicate a safe place for a landing.

There is Conegliano.... The large tower and cypresses of the castle

look small and flat and do not convey to me that feeling of reality

which I felt as I looked at them from the bank of the Piave. Near the

great stone quarry, from which even before our retreat powerful dredges

had taken abundant construction material, there lies a large mansion

with its lights aglow and surrounded by a vast garden. It is my own

house! I recognize the tennis-court, the paths and barns, and I know

who those are who are permitting themselves the luxury of so costly an

illumination at this late hour. They are the surviving Austrian

aviators of the 7th chasing squadron who miraculously escaped the fire

of our guns. They who cannot allow themselves the joy of combat and do

not dare face us by day in the sky are trying perhaps other struggles

against the weaker, against the women who succumb. What a pity that I

have not a bomb. I am certain I would not miss my aim! The long path

which leads from Vittorio to the inn at Gai is outlined clearly against

the green fields and the Villa of Querini Stampalia on the top of the

hill unfolds in the night its huge arches. The Austrians have built a

new connection on the railroad line, Sacile-Conegliano, which will

enable their trains to arrive directly at the station of Ceneda without

passing through Conegliano.

The altimeter marks 7500 feet. I think we can begin to descend because

there is not more than about ten miles between us and the field on

which we have decided to land. The fog which at first was dense has

thinned out gradually and we can now recognize every detail on the

ground beneath us as though it were daytime. The moon which is now high

in the heavens follows its course, tipped up on one side. The

vegetation beneath us changes gradually and in place of the cultivated

fields, vineyards and rows of mulberry trees there is a flat, grassy

region divided by many small streams of water lined with willow trees.

The Meschio, a tributary of the Livenza, has already disappeared

beneath the wing, and beyond glitter the tumultuous falls of the

Livenza near Sacile. The river forms a huge “S” around the towers of

this city whose sharp gables rise towards us. The streets are deserted

and it seems as if no important movement had ever stained their

whiteness. The still wing continues to descend. 4500 feet.... I stand

up to inspect the ground because we must lean slightly towards the left

in order to leave the road which leads from Sacile to Pordenone and

take the road from Fontana Fredda to Aviano. The field on which we have

decided to descend is called “Praterie Forcate” and is about a mile

from the enemy flying field at Aviano. I strain my eyes to try to

recognize the little trenches to the left of our field, trenches which

I have seen in photographs of this region made by Gelmetti from his

“Spad.” There they are, right in front of us! I examine the field

beneath us and there does not seem to be anything abnormal about it.

The sections where the grass has been cut and those where it is still

high form little splotches which resemble camouflaged military works.

We are about 3000 feet above ground and Gelmetti begins spiraling so

that I lose my equilibrium for a moment, but when the plane resumes its

horizontal position I suddenly see flashing on the ground beneath us

one of those green lights which I had previously noticed from on high

and which are accustomed to indicate directions to enemy planes. Three

colored stars rise up towards us and tremblingly fall slowly back on

the plain. There is no time to lose. We must at once modify all our

plans because if in the field where we had decided to land there is a

green light it means that nearby there are Austrians and if we do not

wish to be captured at once we must attempt a landing in some other

place. We describe a wide curve and resume our original route with our

nose towards the camp of Aviano. Two searchlights suddenly blaze out on

the ground and by their light we clearly see a “T” which is the sign

used by the Austrians to indicate to their pilots the spot where they

should place their wheels marked on the field. For a second we believe

all is lost, we fear we must renounce our enterprise forever. If the

rays of the searchlight succeed in enveloping us in their light we

shall be discovered, fired at, and shall have to turn homeward. But

instead of turning their lights towards us they concentrate the power

of their rays on the ground, so that the field beneath us seems to

tremble with a myriad sparks which dance in their broad embrace. The

searchlights cross and intersect over the “T” of the landing spot.

Through the air there passes a swift vision; a few yards from us an

enemy plane which I have recognized from the flashes of the exhaust,

cuts across us but swiftly withdraws and its light disappears towards

the higher strata of air. Therefore, the enemy planes must be

departing, their motors must be going and they must be making an

infernal noise.

Suddenly a wild plan occurs to me. What if, instead of landing on the

field near the one which we had picked out, we should land right on the

outskirts of the enemy’s flying field? In the first place we should be

certain of the favorable character of the land, and secondly we could

not be discovered by the Austrians because they have the light of the

searchlights in their eyes; they would not hear the indistinct noise of

our motor because it is so slight that it would be drowned by the noise

of their departing planes. Furthermore, the audacity of the project

fascinates me; the risk tempts me; it would be too beautiful to be able

to land right on their own field without having them notice it. In a

second I unfold my plan to Gelmetti. He does not answer, but as a

response he lessens still further the flow of gas. The earth rapidly

approaches us. It seems as if it were coming towards us; with the

rapidity of lightning everything retakes its just proportions. We are a

few feet above a road; I am bent double so as not to hamper in the

least the movements of the pilot. He concentrates all his efforts so as

to make a safe landing, but perhaps because he is deceived by the

distant light which, instead of helping, hinders us, he touches land

too soon with his back wheels and the plane jerks forward suddenly; in

a second he straightens it with great dexterity and we touch the ground

gently and glide swiftly towards the end of the field.

“Good, excellent!” I had time to say to Gelmetti and he answered, “Up

to the very last moment you want to make fun of me.”

I jumped to the ground with my bundle of civilian clothes under my arm,

and without waiting a moment I bent to kiss the ground for which I had

suffered so much. My comrade also descended without uttering a word. We

looked anxiously about but the searchlights continued to glow in their

regular fashion as though no alarm had been given. Above us we heard

the deep grinding noise of a “Gotha.” Not a moment to be lost. I went

towards the tail and Bottecchia stood by the wing. The propeller

revolved slowly and with a light, cadenced rustling moved the high

grass and bent with its breeze the branches of the trees and the stalks

of the flowers near it. I pushed all my weight against the triangular

trellis of the tail of the “Voisin” and by making the front wheels of

the plane rise, I caused it to circle on its hind wheels while

Bottecchia helped me by pushing on the side of the wing. Quickly we

removed our fur coats and helmets and I jumped on the plane to throw

them in the bottom of the car. Gelmetti was moved and I could not say a

word. I whispered in his ear, “Remember what you have promised;

remember to come back for me after a month.” He nodded affirmatively

and kissed me. I barely had time to place my feet back on the ground

before he had fed the motor with gas and in the twinkling of an eye had

disappeared. The dear old “Voisin” had again taken flight and we could

only distinguish it by the rumbling of the silencer which was red-hot

and resembled a red lamp wandering in the sky. For a few seconds we

could still follow its glitter and then it disappeared....

* * * * *

We were alone! The moment which I had thought about so often, which I

had so often dreaded, was come! The aeroplane, the last advanced

sentinel of our country, the last safe refuge, had left us, but I did

not tremble. There was within me all that calm which comes to us in

most trying moments, all the faith I had ever felt in the success of my

mission. Above us the tranquil stars twinkled and the vast plain

beneath trembled as though an invisible hand were moving the flowers

and stars which surrounded us. In the background the still profiles of

the mountains lent to the picture a meek aspect of peace and we, who

had passed from sudden motion to calm, from a great struggle to the

silence of nature, found again in the wilderness of that broad plain

the significance of deep things, the intimate feeling of life. Never as

in that moment had I ever experienced the sensation that something

within me had been cut short, that a new life was commencing for me; I

felt like a sailor who, wrested from the current, has with difficulty

reached the bank of a turbulent stream and looks anxiously towards the

other bank to which he no longer has the strength or the courage to

return. So I felt that the past was worth nothing and that I lived only

for the strength of the present, that I lived only for the strength of

the future.

We began to walk rapidly. I had taken Bottecchia by the arm and had

clasped his hand with great emotion that he might feel we were now one,

that a single, firm, indissoluble bond now bound us for the future. He

too answered me with a prolonged, affectionate clasp, without uttering

a word. Almost as if there had opened before us a mysterious way,

unseen before, we hurried and ran towards the mountain guided by a sure

instinct of direction. In moments of such great concentration it almost

seems as if nature, through an egotistical strength of conservation

gives to the organism an unimaginable calm. My impression was not of

walking through a deserted field, but of following the track of a known

path, and when we reached a small country road on whose rocky bed an

enemy tractor had left the marks of its broad tracks, I had the

impression of having already seen those marks, I felt as if I was

reliving in a new life an old adventure.... We were happy! With us sang

the voices of the insects. All the loves which breathe in the country

about us seemed to raise a hosannah of glory in one single glorious

melody. In my ears rang the chords of a Beethoven sonata which sings of

the joys of the awakening. Without stopping we ran across a long

expanse of field until we reached a file of poplars which rose in front

of us. There we paused a moment for breath; to turn around and take

stock of the real things about us.... The small roll of enemy money

weighed in my hand, but I did not put it away because I wished to have

it at hand to throw away at the first provocation. Beyond the file of

trees there extended before us another field, as vast as the first. But

the ground was less level, there were little grassy mounds, heaps of

rocks, and occasional holes. With great satisfaction I reflected on the

good fortune which guided us to land where the ground was level whereas

we might have selected the ground we were now passing over, in which

case a disaster would have been inevitable. At intervals we listened

with our ears close to the ground to discern if there were any

suspicious noises about. The only indications of the enemy and of the

war were the beams of the searchlights which were still lit and the

uninterrupted buzzing of the numerous enemy planes furrowing the paths

of the sky. A small truck passed along the road which we had crossed

and we heard its rumbling lose itself in the distance. We had now

arrived in a cultivated region and large fields of wheat were swaying

their stalks in the night breeze. We did not cross the field, but

preferred to circle around it, because the stalks as they divide always

leave a trace of the passing and if anyone were to have followed us, or

had noticed our presence he could easily reach us by following our

track through the wheat field. I did not expect the land to be so

extensively cultivated. Even in the smallest patches of ground the

little plants of wheat lifted up their heads and everywhere were the

signs of the indefatigable hand of man. We followed a labyrinth of

cultivated vines and every time we were about to step out into an

opening, we looked anxiously about us to make sure there was no living

creature near us. We threw ourselves prostrate on the ground at the

slightest suspicious noise. We had traversed a great deal of road, but

the distance between us and the mountain was still great and would be

more difficult to cover because the dawn was not distant and because we

were approaching a region where there were dwellings. The far-off voice

of a dog barking at the moon reached us as we stepped out onto a road

and this was the first indication that the presence of man was near. We

passed a region cultivated with fruit trees and from behind a hedge

which separated the field from the road there rose the outline of a

small farmhouse.

We had to be on our guard so as not to fall in the jaws of the wolf

when least expected. We were bound to travel more slowly and try to

stay as far as possible from dwellings. Had we been dressed in civilian

clothes we should have been less conspicuous, but if anyone were to see

us in Italian uniforms, with our healthy appearance and clothes not

badly worn, he might suspect us at once and spread the news.

Furthermore we had to be very careful not to meet Austrian soldiers. We

had to avoid the roads where the gendarmes usually walk.

The languid melody of night had been superseded by the brisker melody

of the morning. It seemed as if all the voices of the country were of

one accord to tell us the tale of the light which was about to rise, to

celebrate the praises of the great light-giver which, having traversed

the starry deserts, returns to us with the joys of the awakening. The

air had become colder, there was in it something sharper, something

which invigorates one for the struggle of the day. Towards the east,

towards the distant aviation fields where the searchlight faded in the

first greenish lights of dawn, a thin, pale, wan light penetrated and

followed the grave majesty of night, the grave, deep azure vault in

which Venus had lit her torch.

The houses became more frequent and from them there sounded occasional

confused noise of voices. Something common and familiar was awakened in

our consciences. The wonder of sleep was interrupted by the little

necessities of every hour, and these needs were revealed to us by the

noise of wooden shoes running downstairs, by a virile voice, or by the

bellowing or mooing of an animal as it awakened. The roosters raised

their silvery voices towards the sun and their joyous chants multiplied

and increased along the plain with the light. Life was being reborn

again in a multitude of ways and we had not reached a safe spot as yet,

we had not reached the mountain where we should be able to change our

clothes. We were compelled to quicken our steps, lest we be discovered

unexpectedly, and since in the many noises we had heard nothing

abnormal, nothing which indicated the presence of the enemy, we

hastened all the more to reach the hills embossed in the thick foliage

of the chestnut trees.

A small village extended at a short distance to our right and the

tranquil houses with their sloping roofs of wood clustered about the

church like little devout women who wished to enter. Our progress was

now more difficult because at times our path was crossed by wire

railings, by low walls which must be jumped, and every now and then

there was no alternative but to travel along stretches of road where we

were likely to have unpleasant encounters. A bluish smoke rose from the

chimneys and through a thick curtain of leaves I got a glimpse of a

peasant who having collected his heifers, urged them on with the tip of

his staff. There was only a short distance left for us to cross and

having followed for a few moments a wall along the road, and having

crossed a small ditch, we again found ourselves in open country and

fronting hills sloping toward the plain. We began to ascend and nature

at once became wilder, the cultivation less cared for, and thick

entanglements of shrubs and thorns encircled the sturdy, knotted trunks

of the chestnut trees. These gently sloping hills followed one another

in rapid succession, so that no sooner had the climber reached the top

of one of them than up shot another elevation which required further

ascent. But we had to descend again towards the bottom of the valley

from which there rose a sudden cloud of smoke. Between the backs of two

mountains which outlined their sharp shapes against the sky there

appeared the square imposing mass of the Castle of Polcenigo. We

quickened our pace while descending and passed near a small clearing in

which a few trenches had been dug and above which projected several

targets of cardboard. This must have been a practice field for the

enemy, and therefore we could not delay long in its vicinity; for

directly the sun rose, there would probably arrive enemy soldiers.

Rapidly we traversed the distance which still separated us from the

river and without removing our shoes or turning up our trousers we

plunged into the water, which reached to our knees, and which separated

us from another hill where the wood was so thick and compact that it

would serve as a safe refuge in which to change our clothing.

A small rocky path rose towards the summit of the hill and the water of

a brook eddied and leaped down through the rocks. The vegetation about

us was composed largely of shrubs, and the climbing vines about the

massive trunks of the chestnut trees formed intricate labyrinths which

it was not easy to enter. At intervals a small clearing opened before

us and we chose one of these, not too distant from the top of the hill,

as a suitable place in which to make the necessary changes.

This was really a streak of luck because we were thoroughly wet, and it

would do us no harm to change into dry clothes. The only thing we

wanted to change was our shoes but on certain occasions one cannot

afford to be too particular. We undressed and put on the coarse

underwear and our heavy peasant suits. I glanced at the front of my

uniform on which the three blue medal ribbons, which I did not wish to

leave behind me even when I left my country, were pinned. Bottecchia

made a bundle of our cast-off clothing and threw it under a tree which

could be recognized at once for its height. Those suits might prove

useful. If at a future date we should be found and made prisoners we

could show our tallies and call ourselves Italian aviation officers who

had been compelled to land in a camp near Aviano, because of a sudden

damage to the motor. We could say we had ordered the pilot to destroy

the plane and that we had obtained civilian clothes from some peasants

in which we attempted to reach our own lines. The pilot instead of

destroying the plane perhaps had succeeded in adjusting the magneto and

had departed leaving us in enemy territory. To prove the truth of our

tale we could show them our uniforms which we had left under the tree

where they were at present. This version seemed plausible and I hoped

that in case of necessity I should be able to convince the Austrians.

We stood up. The resplendent sun was already high in the heavens and

all the plain was flooded with its light. The fields which we had

traversed extended across the background of the picture and we

recognized the rows of poplar trees towards which we had sped when we

first alighted. Then we saw again all the cultivated district, the

scattered houses we had encountered at the beginning and finally the

compact mass of houses of Budoia which we miraculously passed without

unpleasant rencontres. Everything about us seemed marvelous. The

plants, the flowers, the bushes, the grass seemed to have a new

fascination for us. The very rising of the sun astonished us, as though

the sun should arise otherwise than in our own territory. Finally we

began to consider the insurmountable barrier which separated us from

our people, and looking towards the west we sought for a sign of

something from the other side. Everywhere we were surrounded by enemy

territory. Delay in this spot however was dangerous. We should try to

get our bearings more definitely in mind; waiting then in some secluded

nook until night fell once more.

It would be interesting to be able to watch from an elevated point the

movement on the Sarone-Polcenigo road and we therefore continued our

walk towards the other side of the hill; that side which dominated the

road. I threw a last glance towards the tree beneath which our uniforms

rested, hoping I should never need to see them again. The wood was so

thick and tangled that it was difficult to open a passageway among the

dense foliage. At length we emerged on a large clearing. In the center

the heavy walls of a large house arose. The chimney was tranquilly

exhaling a bluish smoke which faded away in the clear atmosphere of the

morning. We barely had time to hide before we saw a young woman

carrying a large pail of milk come out from the half-open door. How we

should have liked to step out and talk with her; how we should have

liked to drink a glass of milk! But dared we do it when in that house

there might be billeted some enemy soldiers? We turned away and resumed

our weary march through the contorted coils of the climbing vines.

Occasionally a lizard glided swiftly through the low juniper-bushes

which were in bud and we turned, fearful that some suspicious person

was following us. The wood became gradually thinner and the hill

descended rapidly towards the road. We stopped in a sort of cave

surrounded by shrubs from which we could see everything without being

seen. In front of us rose the stony wall of the Cansiglio which is

almost without vegetation; the sections nearer the lowland however,

seemed more cultivated than in previous years. On one side the Livenza,

which from its very source forms wide turns over a vast sloping tract

of ground, divided our hill from the mountain in front of us. The

Church of the Santissima could be distinguished on the further side of

the valley and a few houses were scattered here and there over the

slopes. We tried to get our bearings so as to study what road to follow

as soon as night should fall. That village which we saw about two miles

away in the gap between the hills and the Cansiglio was Sarone. Yes,

certainly, because lower down, before the long zigzagging of the

ascending road, I recognized the great furnaces which are marked on the

map. We had to decide whether it would be more convenient to pass to

the right or to the left of the village, and both of us decided to pass

by way of the mountain where the dwellings are less frequent. For, by

that way it would be easier for us to pass unobserved. I thought it

would be better to follow a little mule-path which seemed to pass over

several small precipices where, one could guess, there was a quarry,

and thence, by keeping always towards the center, we should arrive at

Belvedere.

The hours followed each other slowly; the sun was high and the noise of

the cicadas made itself heard about us. The fields in front of us were

peopled with workers and the furrows in which the wheat was planted

glistened distinctly. Several women, easily identifiable from the black

kerchiefs tied about their heads and the traditional full skirt, were

hoeing near us. So far there had been no sign of the enemy, yet from

what I heard at Sarone, there should be the command of a brigade of

Honwed nearby and therefore also the command of the gendarmes. Several

hours had passed and still not a single wagon nor a single soldier had

been seen. Suddenly we heard the buzzing of a motor overhead. We raised

our eyes and over us an enemy plane flew low, clearly distinguishable

by the crosses on its wings. We now had to resign ourselves to the

sight of seeing those colors, which we often fought on our front, pass

over our heads. Here the machines which would fly at great height and

would be followed by bursts of shrapnel would be the planes with the

tricolor of our friends and comrades.

Noon had now passed. We inferred this from the position of the sun for

we had no watch with us. Subdued whisperings were heard from among the

rustling leaves as though persons were passing through the wood which

we had crossed. They were the sweet sounds of children’s voices. We

left the small clearings at once so as not to be espied and from the

wood there came two little boys searching for strawberries. They took

the road which led to the house on the top of the hill; after a few

seconds every sound ceased. How we should have liked to stop them; how

we wished to kiss them, to express to them all our love and how many

questions we wished to ask them. But we did not deem it advisable to

confide in little children who might talk and so focus on us the

attention of soldiers who could not be far distant.

A slight noise of firing reached us from the other side of the valley.

It must be, we thought, the Austrians practicing in the firing camp

which we crossed. The time did not seem to pass, and although each of

us had rested for a few hours while the other stood on guard, it seemed

as if the great solar disk were always in the same spot in the heavens

and had decided never to disappear behind the summits of the hills. A

military cart drawn by four horses passed near us with heavy tread. The

cart was full of knapsacks and munitions and this was the first sign,

this was the first enemy we had encountered. Immediately afterward we

heard a bugle, and a truck passed by noisily, the reverberation of its

motor growing and then fading away among the mountain echoes. The sun

at last was about to set and the women who were working in the fields

took their children in their arms, and with the farming implements on

their shoulders, wended their way towards home. Then followed the

groups of peasants ascending slowly the road which leads to Sarone. A

great calm seemed to rest over all; peace in a smile seemed to descend

from heaven, and in the failing light it seemed as if all worries, all

cares, became drowsy. The sunset hour passed quickly and the purple sky

became tinged with violet in the higher regions.

_Era già l’ora che volge il desio

Ai naviganti e intenerisce il core

La, di, che han deteo ai dolci amici addio._

—Dante Purgatorio

The melancholy of night enveloped my soul and albeit no chimes from a

bell wept for the dying day, yet a throng of memories crowded my mind

during the first silences and shadows of the night.