XX

August 10. We were about to start on our journey in accordance with our

last plan, when unexpectedly the community teacher from Fregona and the

doctor who had attended me during my sickness arrived. The teacher

brought me a passport a “verkerschum” made out in accordance with all

the rules, good for two persons for the journey from Vittorio to the

village of Caorle which is near the sea. They told me it was an

exceptional passport and that it had been confirmed by the command at

Tappa di Vittorio, at Portogruro and at Torre di Mosto and that many

persons had already made use of it without ever having had any trouble.

I was to pretend I was a teacher and would have to dress in civilian

clothes and wear a white band on my arm with the word “Lehrer.” Italo

was to be a servant who traveled with me to help carry the sack of

wheat, for my journey to Caorle was supposedly to be for the purpose of

procuring some wheat which was more abundant along the coast than

inland. Angelin, the son of Maria de Luca who had been over that

territory many times and who knew the land inch by inch, offered to

accompany us.

We left at midnight while a terrible storm was raging. Before leaving

her son, Maria entrusted him to me and urged me to carry him across to

the other side with us if it were possible. As I descended the

hill I turned back to give it a parting look for somehow I had the

presentiment that this time we would succeed in crossing. As I looked

back I recalled all the privations, sufferings and joys we had

experienced for almost three months and I thought of my poor soldier

whom I should have liked to have had with me, to have had as a

companion in this new attempt which I felt would bring us to safety. At

one time the rain became so violent that we were compelled to seek

shelter under a shed which we thought uninhabited. We had barely

entered and had not had time to look about to see whether someone were

hidden behind the cases of merchandise when a raucous bold voice arose

not far from us and we saw the figure of an armed man coming towards

us. We started to run madly and when we were far enough away to be safe

we heard the echo of several shots.

As we did not want to pass through the village of Cordignano where we

knew there was a command of gendarmes we made a long detour around the

outskirts of the houses. As a precaution along the road, Angelin was

delegated to walk about fifty paces in front of us and if he saw

anything suspicious he was to stop and we should understand. In the

open country we all walked together without being over-careful. Walking

along in this way we reached a wheat-field and, without noticing it, we

landed right in front of a sentinel who at once called, “Halt.” Again

we took to flight and swiftly ran out of range of his shots. Reassured

by the good luck which seemed to favor us in our encounters we

continued our journey walking on the main highway and hiding for a

moment whenever a noisy car would rumble past and light the road

with the glare of its searchlights. We risked crossing the great

Conegliano-Sacile road and did not meet anyone and thence we directed

our steps towards the village of Corbolon where we knew there was a

bridge.

We now reached the most critical stage of our journey for we had to

pass a crossing always guarded by gendarmes who challenged all those

who tried to pass. I had no desire to face them for I knew how much

trouble they could cause, and I could not decide to try my luck.

Perhaps it would be prudent to ask the peasants nearby whether the

guards were severe and whether they knew any of the gendarmes who

guarded the bridge. We entered a farmhouse and asked the information we

wanted. They answered that the policeman on guard was a truly good man

and that the preceding evening he had talked with them for a long time.

He had told them an extraordinary tale which they could not believe

even though he had assured them it was true. He told them he had been

instructed to examine carefully the papers of all travelers because the

report had spread that an Italian Lieutenant General had descended in

an aeroplane in the vicinity of the aviation camp at Aviano and the

Austrian command had been searching everywhere for him without success.

This tale amused me immensely for I well knew that no Lieutenant

General had descended in the aviation camp at Aviano and since I was

the only one who had landed in that camp, I had a further proof that

the Austrians were hunting me and that legends were already beginning

to be formed about my adventure. But we did not lose courage; we

decided to try the crossing at all costs. The waters of the Livenza

were at a high level and passed over the little bridge. I approached

the gendarme and with the greatest indifference I handed him my papers.

He looked at me and said that if I wanted to cross I would have to take

off my shoes. I agreed with him and while he examined my passport I

started a conversation. “What ugly weather! The Italians and Austrians

haven’t yet had enough of this terrible, devastating war they are

waging against each other; they still are not satisfied with the many

innocent victims they have sacrificed for their pride and mania for

conquest. This war was desired by the rich, by the munition makers who

ask for nothing better than that the war continue so they can make more

money. Meanwhile, they send the poor people to the front to get shot

and we, because of these sharks, must go hungry. Now, for instance, if

I do not find any wheat at Caorle my children will get nothing to eat.

I suppose your children away off in Dalmatia are in a pretty sad state

too, because despite all the accusations against Austria of starving

our particular regions, I know very well that the conditions there are

about the same as here.”

The old man sighed and returned my passport. I took off my shoes and

crossed with my companions. The kind of talk I had heard so often

repeated by Austrian soldiers produced the desired effect when I used

it and that poor gendarme certainly could not suspect that the

complaining school teacher was the very Lieutenant General for whom he

had been warned to be on guard.

The first incident cheered us, and we felt that luck was with us and

that everything would turn out for the best. We continued along the

main road, and while passing through Meduna I recognized the villa of a

friend where I had often been a guest. We met several platoons of

Austrian shock troops returning from practice. They tramped heavily

along the road, their large helmets curved above them, and a solemn,

slow chant accompanied their rhythmic tread. We slept at Lorenzaga and

in the morning we continued on the dusty road. We passed the great

market-place at San Stino di Livenza near the river without any

incidents and following closely beside the dikes we arrived at Torre di

Mosto. Thence we proceeded cautiously to Paese della Salute.

There we had been directed to Don Giovanni Morgantin and he greeted us

with great cordiality. He gave us a generous meal, hitched his horse

and made us ride in his carriage. He was a great friend of the mayor of

Caorle and was to introduce us to him so that the mayor might furnish

us with a boat with which to cross the water which separated us from

our lines. The horse’s trot made the bells jingle and we marveled that

we had again become prosperous and could ride after tramping for so

long and envying those who passed us by in carriages. Now we could

really call ourselves safe, for the priest who was with us was on very

friendly terms with the Austrians and those with him would never be

suspected. Furthermore, the band on my arm had already worked miracles.

Before arriving at San Stino a gendarme approached me and asked me in

the Venetian dialect, “What time is it, Master?” I courteously answered

him and gave him the information he desired.

We reached several armed naval pontoons on which were anti-aircraft

batteries. The sailors spoke in the Venetian dialect with the soft

accent of the Istrians and the Dalmatians. We passed a boat manned by

soldiers and entered a courtyard which was full of Hungarians. Here

too, rested an officer dressed in white who was enjoying the cool

breeze under a little tent pitched near the water. A peasant to whom

the priest had entrusted us led us to the house of the Mayor. This

house was in the open country in the midst of the drainage works. As we

entered, the atmosphere seemed very luxurious to us, after having seen

so many bare homes. The daughter of the Mayor, a pretty dark girl, came

towards us. On her work table was a large Italian flag which she was

preparing for the day when the Italians should return. I looked about

and asked myself whether I was dreaming for everything seemed so

cheerful, everything so simple and easy, everything was proceeding with

far more facility than I ever could have hoped for. In the room in

which we stood conversing there was a photograph of our King, and when

the Mayor joined us I asked him how he succeeded in keeping it there.

He answered that from the very beginning the Austrians did their utmost

to remove it, that they returned again and again to seize it, but he

defended it with all his power, as he had defended the honor of his

daughters, and when the Austrians asked him why he gave so much

importance to that image he answered, “That is my King and shall always

be my King.” The enemy, who feels so strongly the sense of dynasty,

submitted before such great loyalty and the photograph of the King of

Italy was (and is) still in its place.

“So you are an Italian officer and you need the use of a boat? I do not

think it will be difficult to get one for you because our fishermen

have many and, that the Austrians may not seize them, they have filled

them with stones and sunk them in the low canals. We shall have to

float one of them and see that it does not leak. Then you will have to

try to leave at once because in these days the moon sets early and so,

without light, it will be easier for you to succeed in your attempt.”

The next day the Mayor gave us the good news that the boat was ready

and that it would be waiting for us in the marshes not far from the

beach. As soon as night fell, with a fisherman as our guide, we walked

east for several miles to find the spot where the boat awaited us. The

fisherman told us that we had better keep about half a mile from shore

without ever losing sight of it, and that after about two hours of

rowing we should reach the mouth of the Piave on the other side of

which are our lines. The fisherman assured us that no motor-boats

cruise at night but they usually wait until dawn before they go out,

and that the nights in general pass tranquilly.

The night was calm and serene and the sky studded with myriads of

stars. The stars of the Great Bear, Aldebaran, Pollux and Cassiope

twinkled like blazing torches seen through a thick veil. The milky way

spread its abundant light over the deep blue and the horned moon

descended tranquilly towards the sea. Our little skiff, covered with

twigs to avoid being discovered by indiscreet eyes, rested on a little

canal where tall rushes stood. The wind murmured softly through the

reeds and the echo of the bamboo-canes brushing against the bank

answered. All the air was mild; the scenery seemed saturated with azure

and the greenish houses threw their deep shadows on the ground. About

us rose the strident croaking of the frogs and a toad modulated its

harmonious whistle. The fisherman from Salute pointed out the way we

must follow. Five hundred yards divided us from the sea and we should

have to carry the boat over a little raised level of ground which

separated the marshes from the beach. Several bushes and thorny plants

grew on the bank and a sturdy cardoon raised its curved flowers towards

the pale sky. Bits of shells crackled and broke under our feet. The

waves had washed a jellyfish on shore and its bluish gelatinous form

mingled with the green of the sea-weed.

Now we had to begin carrying the boat. Angelin, who was still with us,

looked about wonderingly and his eyes seem to stray towards the distant

horizon and to lose themselves among the starry depths. We tried to

lift the boat but it was very heavy and it fell back into the marsh.

After numerous attempts we succeeded in getting it over the causeway

and we now pushed it down towards the beach by making it roll along

over the oars for otherwise it would have sunk so far into the mud that

we should not have been able to raise it. Angelin placed the oars in

front of us and Italo and I, combining all our strength, pulled the

little flat-bottomed skiff. We stopped often to rest, for the distance

to be covered was long. Finally we succeeded in carrying the boat to

near the water where the ground was damp and hard. The voices of the

sailors singing the songs of Istria afar off on the pontoons reached

us. The boat glided over the first waves, balanced itself and then

floated. We pushed it towards the deep because we feared to encounter

some shallow spot and at last we jumped in. Our weight tilted the boat

sideways. Italo took the oars, I sat at the stern and Angelin crouched

at my feet.

Midnight had passed and the thirteenth of August was beginning to

break. The sea was as calm as oil, the boat glided smoothly cleaving

the water with its broad keel and from afar we heard the voices of the

white foamy waves chasing one another. The sky was full of falling

stars which furrowed the upper darkness and left behind them luminous

tracks; iridescent crests fell like flashes of lightning, dimming

suddenly the light of the other stars which trembled tranquilly.

Overhead it seemed as if there was a wonderful display of fireworks.

The curved shore was now lost in the depth of the night. Along the

shore occasional searchlights gleamed, outlining huge semicircles over

the water, and whenever their light struck us Italo stopped rowing and

we all crouched in the bottom of the boat so as not to be seen. Along

the bank the first fireworks began to ascend and their trembling sparks

fell back slowly and were extinguished in the water. Afar off towards

the west many searchlights scrutinized the sky and their yellow rays

intersected on the starry vault.

We rowed for several hours. Angelin, rocked by the gentle motion of the

boat, rested his head on my knees and was sleeping peacefully. We could

not see the beach any longer and to get our bearings we followed the

line of the fireworks and the milky way which goes from east to west.

Suddenly we heard a strange noise near the boat. This was followed by

splashes, gliding rustles; at times it seemed as if something were

following us. We were frightened; for a moment we believed we were near

a submarine; we anxiously expected to see a periscope rise up near us,

but finally the glidings approached us and we noticed several foamy

dolphins splashing gaily about us. Surely they were Italian dolphins

which had come to welcome us, though at first we did not understand, we

did not appreciate them.

Dawn rose slowly in the east, the stars faded above the silvery water

and a grayish gleam tinged with pink spread over the sky. We did not

know whether we had passed the line of the Piave. The fireworks

continued to shoot up regularly in the early morning light. We now had

to turn our prow towards the shore, even if it be an enemy shore,

because anything would be preferable to being seized by the motor-boats

which would soon begin cruising. If we landed in enemy territory we

should have to try and hide our boat and attempt the feat another

night. Italo rowed with powerful strokes and the boat glided swiftly

over the calm waves. Again we saw land and it looked like a thin narrow

line of violet; its outline became clearer, more definite as we

approached. The light was still dim and we were almost on shore. A

wagon to which two oxen were hitched passed slowly along the beach and

the curved horns of the meek animals were outlined against the grayish

sky.

“Halt! Who goes there, who are you?”

“We are Italians, we are Italians.”

On the shore there appeared the figure of a sailor dressed in white.

“If you are Italians, come on down, come quickly.”

It was our land, our dearest land! We had arrived, we had arrived at

last! I embraced the Italian sailor and kissed him as I had kissed our

land on my arrival on the further side of the Piave!