Six months on the Italian front

by Julius M. Price

CHAPTER IV

The wonderful system on which everything was worked—Udine “the Front”—The commencement of hostilities—The 24th May—The first day of operations auspicious for Italy—Redemption of the province of Friuli—New Italian Front—Cormons—The inhabitants of Italian origin—A good practical joke—The moral of the troops—Unpretentious attempts at wit—High spirits of the men—The road from Udine to Cormons—Wonderful sight—Italian flags everywhere—A mystery where they came from—Wild triumphant advance of the Italian troops—Women kiss the ground—But a lever de rideau—Italians cross the Isonzo—Austrians on Monte Nero—Monte Nero—The capture of Monte Nero—Incredible daring of the Alpini—The story of the great achievement—Number of prisoners taken—The prisoners brought to Udine—Their temporary prison—The tropical heat—An ugly incident—Austrian attempt to re-take Monte Nero—Success follows success—Capture of Monfalcone and Gradisca; Sagrado and Monte Corrada—Commencement of the attack on Gorizia—Subjects for my sketch book—Touches of human nature—High mass in the mountains—The tentes d’abri—Cheerfulness of men in spite of all hardships.

CHAPTER IV

Everything seemed to go as though by routine in the early operations, and from the moment war was declared and the Italian army made its “Tiger spring” for the Passes on the night of May 23rd-24th it was manifest that General Cadorna had well-matured plans, and, that they were being carried out without a hitch anywhere.

During the six weeks I managed to stay in Udine I had ample opportunity of observing the wonderful system on which everything was worked, and how carefully pre-arranged were the movements of troops and material. Certainly no army—not even excepting the German—ever started a war under better conditions.

Udine in the early weeks of the war was right up at “the Front,” so to speak, and therefore an extremely important centre. It was practically from here that the commencement of hostilities was made.

At four o’clock in the morning of the 24th of May the Italian army crossed the Indrio, a tributary of the Isonzo, overcame a feeble resistance and entered Austrian territory.

During the entire day the onward march continued. After a preparatory attack in Monte Quirino, the important town of Cormons surrendered and a few hours later Caporetto, Cervignano, Terzo, Medea, the ancient city of Aquileia and Grado, the “Austrian Ostend,” in the Adriatic. The first day of operations, therefore, dawned auspiciously for Italy.

Some fears were expressed at the time that the hasty withdrawal of the Austrians was a ruse, and that the Italians might find themselves in a fix later on, but, as was soon proved, this was not the case, and nearly the whole of the province of Friuli, that the Austrians had held since 1866, had been redeemed with no opposition worthy of the name, and the Italian front extended from Tolmino to the sea.

I was in Cormons shortly after the entry of the troops, and it was difficult to realise that the Italians had not always been there. The inhabitants of Italian origin helped to remove as many traces as possible of the Austrian occupancy—the hated names disappeared as if by magic from shop fronts and street corners; in fact, in a very few hours it was an Italian town again, and the good folk of Cormons had cast off their hated thraldom.

In the centre of the town is a statue of the Emperor Maximilian (it looks exactly like Beckmesser in the “Meistersingers” singing his pricelied), and on the day of the entry of the Italian soldiers some wag conceived the happy idea of placing a sack over the head and an Italian flag in one of the hands, an indignity that must have caused the Austrian inhabitants to gnash their teeth with impotent rage, but there were touches of humour discernable everywhere which conveyed to you more perhaps than anything else an idea of the moral of the troops.

Notices roughly scrawled on walls in the villages which one passed—“This way for Trieste,” “Nearest road to Monfalcone,” “Straight on and the second to the right for Gorizia,” and so forth—unpretentious little attempts at wit which have remade their appearance again and again in every war probably from time immemorial. All this, added to the wonderful patriotic ardour and enthusiasm one saw on all sides, was very impressive.

It meant practically scaling a cliff of rock ([see page 41])

To face page 38

It is certain that no troops ever went to battle in higher spirits than these splendid fellows. One heard them marching along singing and laughing as though they had not a care in the world.

The road all the way from Udine to Cormons was a wonderful sight, and looked like a defile of troops on some national fête day rather than the opening of hostilities.

I saw the French armies on their way to the Front at the beginning of the war, flower-bedecked and bubbling over with enthusiasm, but somehow that was different to this advance of the Italians. The world war had not then commenced; its horrors were as yet unknown—here there was no question as to what was going to happen if Italy did not “make good,” so the confidence and empressment was the more stirring to my mind.

Italian flags seemed to blossom forth everywhere. It was quite remarkable the numbers of them one saw. Where they all came from was a mystery, as it was well known that the Austrians never tolerated them anywhere in the province. It was suggested that the three different colours of material were purchased separately and in different places so as not to arouse suspicion, and held in readiness to be sewn together to form the flags when the time at last arrived.

The successful operations of the first day of the war were immediately followed up by a vigorous offensive, and the Italian troops practically swept everything before them during the next few days in their wild triumphant advance, all of which, in the language of the Ring, proved the value of being ready and getting in the first blow.

Everywhere the soldiers were received with open arms by the peasantry of the redeemed province, and many touching scenes were witnessed in the villages through which they passed, villages that had long given up hope of ever being under the Italian tricolour again. In one place the women said they would always kiss the ground the Italians were marching over.

Of course, however, all this was but a lever de rideau, and the merest prelude to what was going to take place in the near future when the opposing armies got to grips. The Austrians did not intend to submit to a walk over by any means, as was discovered when, a few days later, the Italians crossed the Isonzo and endeavoured to establish themselves on the slopes of Monte Nero preparatory to capturing the mountain itself, but the Austrians were found to be formidably entrenched, supported by heavy artillery and a great number of machine guns.

The chief operations for the next few weeks, therefore, were confined to the mountainous region on the left bank of the Isonzo, about six miles west of Tolmino.

Here, towering nearly 7,000 feet high, rugged and threatening, visible for miles around, is the frowning pinnacle of bare rock known as Monte Nero, for the possession of which so many gallant lives were to be sacrificed. That it was of the utmost importance it should without undue delay be captured was patent from the very start. From its northern slope the Austrian artillery commanded the entire zone of operations in the vicinity right and left.

It is almost impossible to describe the terrible nature of the enterprise the Italians found themselves up against, but which had to be carried out at all costs. One must have seen Monte Nero to form a conception of the courage that was requisite to accomplish it, yet it was eventually achieved, and under conditions which will ever redound to the glory of the Italian army.

The whole story of the capture of Monte Nero is a veritable epic of heroism and endurance. It started with a series of stubborn conflicts for the possession of the spurs leading to the summit; these were gradually taken, and then came the crucial moment when only the actual summit remained in the possession of the Austrians. This had been transformed into a veritable fortress, and its eventual capture was probably one of the most thrilling episodes in the history of war.

The Austrians were so strongly entrenched and fortified that they had every reason to consider themselves in complete security from any attack except by long range artillery fire, and the front of their positions was further protected by nature, the side of the mountain being almost perpendicular for some distance from the top.

Many an experienced climber would hesitate to negotiate so precipitous an ascent in daylight. The Alpini, with almost incredible daring, undertook it on a moonless night.

It meant practically scaling a cliff of rock in pitch darkness, encumbered with rifle and munition; however, amongst the men, all of whom were hardy mountaineers, there was no hesitancy. In order to lessen the danger of making any noise which might arouse the suspicions of the Austrian sentries, they removed their boots and bound rags round their feet to prevent them being cut on the rocks.

Up they climbed in the Cimmerian gloom of midnight like so many panthers stalking their prey; now and again a rock, dislodged by accident, would disturb the stillness of the night as it rattled down into the valley below, and instantly the column would halt and remain motionless expecting the next moment the mountain side would be illumined by the enemy’s flares and their presence discovered, but their quarry slumbered in blissful ignorance of their approaching doom, and the sentinels, fortunately, heard nothing.

Half-an-hour before dawn the various detachments reached the summit and found themselves within a few yards of the front line of entrenchments. These were instantly rushed and captured at the point of the bayonet within a few minutes, most of their defenders being killed before they were awake.

The second line shared the same fate after a short and stubborn fight, for once aroused the Austrians fought like cornered rats and with the courage of despair, but they had no chance against the athletic Alpinist, many of whom had not even troubled to put on their boots after the long climb.

By the time the summits of the mountains were illumined by the rays of the rising sun the whole of the heights and slopes of Monte Nero were in the hands of the Italians—750 unwounded prisoners, a large quantity of rifles and ammunition and several machine guns.

The prisoners were brought to Udine, and made a sorry spectacle as they marched through the streets. It was the first time the inhabitants had seen Austrian captives, and they produced a strange impression, as what had been seen of the war so far had been only the troops passing on their way to the front line.

Most of the men were Hungarians between 17 and 25 years of age; many were slightly wounded, their uniforms were in tatters, and the majority had no boots, but wooden shoes fastened to the foot and ankle by leather straps.

They were confined temporarily in an old building on the Piazza Garibaldi and I managed to get in and make a sketch and have a chat with one of them. He told me that most of them had come from the Serbian front and had had a very rough time. Looking round the motley crowd in the picturesque courtyard, I could quite believe him, but the men seemed quite reconciled to their fate and taking it very philosophically.

There was a group playing cards in one corner, and lying about in the shade were others chatting and smoking long German pipes, or sleeping peacefully. The heat that day was terrific, and certainly the prisoners in their scanty attire had a better time of it than their guards in full uniform.

Mentioning the tropical heat recalls to my mind a very curious incident which occurred when the prisoners were being brought into camp, and which gave a vivid idea of the awful conditions in the Austrian positions the suddenness of the Italian attack had brought about.

Some soldiers were bringing up big canteens full of water to be served out in due course, when suddenly there was a veritable stampede amongst the prisoners, and before it could be stopped there was a wild fight to get at the water. So overwhelming was the rush that the carriers were literally swept aside.

The struggle only lasted a few moments, as it was, of course, only a question of who was biggest and strongest; then those who had got at the receptacles flung themselves on the ground and literally buried their faces in the water, lapping it up greedily like so many animals, whilst their weaker comrades tried madly to drag them away to get at it also. It was a sickening spectacle, and proved how, under certain conditions, some human beings revert instantly to their primordial nature.

The capture of Monte Nero by the Italians appeared to put the Austrians on their mettle, and they made every endeavour to re-take it.

Battalion after battalion was thrown against the position, whole regiments were destroyed in the vain attempt to dislodge the Alpini, and as a last resource the Austrians brought up their own mountain troops, the famous “Kaiser Jagers,” but with no more success.

Thus the first few weeks of war fully bore out the expectations of those who were convinced that the skill of General Cadorna and the spirit of the Italian army would be more than a match for any efforts of the Austrians, and justified the confidence which was felt on all sides.

Events moved rapidly during those early weeks of the war, and success followed success without intermission.

Monfalcone, the seaport on the Adriatic, with its important shipbuilding yards, Gradisca and Sagrado were added to the list of Austrian towns captured by the Italians in June, together with the important position of Monte Corrada. All of which represented a distinct advance into enemy territory in the direction of Trieste.

It was not, however, a “walk over,” and the Italians had to pay dearly in places for their successes. The fighting for the middle Isonzo continued fiercely, and there were severe losses round Plava before the place was taken. The Austrians, however, lost still more heavily.

The attack on Gorizia, which was to last so many months, may be said to have commenced about the middle of June, when the Italians were able to start bombarding the fortifications of Santa Maria, San Pietro, San Marco, and Santa Lucia, besides the Austrian positions dominating the town, especially Mount San Gabriele.

Of course all this meant long range artillery duels day after day, which presented but little spectacular interest, though it was obvious that there was method in all this vast expenditure of ammunition, purposeless as it may have appeared to the layman; to me as an artist, however, there were plenty of subjects for sketches, and without having to search for them through field glasses. Not far afield there were always interesting incidents—little touches of human nature in the camps and on the road that fortunately for me had so far escaped the attention of the ubiquitous photographer.

On one occasion, for instance, I saw Mass being celebrated in a small encampment in the mountains; for it must be remembered that the innate piety and religious spirit of the Italian Army have been evident in every step of our Ally’s campaign against Austria.

On a road in the wild district near Pontebba a rude altar of rough boxes was set up—the altar cloth was a soldier’s blanket—the priest’s assistants were soldiers.

It was a common soldier who rang the bell at the Elevation of the Host, and the kneeling troops told of the devout spirit in which they had entered not only into the Divine Service but also into the war.

A battery was passing along the road at that moment, and the artillerymen bared their heads and piously made the sign of the Cross, whilst a sentry before a row of grey tents fell on his knees.

Even in the haste of a rapid transport of guns, reverence was not forgotten, although it was not possible for the convoy to stop. The kneeling troops were Alpini, who were encamped in this mountainous district and had already figured gallantly in action.

The operations on the frontier in the vicinity of Pontebba were especially interesting from an artistic point of view. The scenery here is magnificent, and much of the fighting took place along the big military highway constructed by Napoleon to connect Milan with Vienna.

It was always a pleasure to be amongst the troops, and it was an endless source of astonishment to me to see how they had in so short a time settled down to the irksome daily routine of warfare as it exists at the rear of the fighting line.

The glorious summer weather doubtless contributed in no small degree to the high spirits of the soldiers, for camp life in the Italian army is very different to that of the English—it is far more picturesque, but of comfort there is very little, it appeared to me. The quaint tentes d’abri afford very slight shelter either against the intense glare and heat of the Italian sunshine, or the cold and rain in bad weather, yet the men appeared to be thoroughly happy and contented under any conditions.

It may be said that it is all a question of habit or rather custom; but there is no doubt that the English Tommy expects to be, and is, pampered in the way of quarters and catering to an extent that would astonish the Italian soldier if he could see it; as a matter of fact, it was frequently a revelation to me what these men had to put up with at times, and their invariable cheerfulness in spite of all hardships and discomfort.