CHAPTER IX
From Brescia to Verona—Absence of military movement in rural districts—Verona—No time for sightseeing—The axis of the Trentino—Roveretto, the focus of operations—Fort Pozzachio—A “dummy fortress”—Wasted labour—Interesting incident—Excursion to Ala—Lunch to the correspondents—Ingenious ferry-boat on River Adige—The Valley of the Adige—Wonderful panorama—“No sketching allowed”—Curious finish of incident—Austrian positions—Desperate fighting—From Verona to Vicenza—The positions of Fiera di Primiero—Capture of Monte Marmolada—The Dolomites—Their weird fascination—A striking incident—The attempted suicide—The Col di Lana—Up the mountains on mules—Sturdy Alpini—Method of getting guns and supplies to these great heights—The observation post and telephone cabin on summit—The Colonel of Artillery—What it would have cost to capture the Col di Lana then—The Colonel has an idea—The idea put into execution—The development of the idea—Effect on the Col di Lana—An object lesson—The Colonel gets into hot water—The return down the mountains—Caprili—Under fire—We make for shelter—The village muck-heap—Unpleasant position—A fine example of coolness—The wounded mule—An impromptu dressing.
CHAPTER IX
It has been said that “who holds the Trentino holds not merely the line of the Alps and the Passes, but the mouths of the Passes and the villages which debouch into the Lombard Plain.”
The significance of this statement was being continually brought home to me here on this northern frontier of Italy, and you could not shut your eyes to the fact that the very safety of the whole country depended on the army making good its “tiger spring” in the first hours of the war.
It was not so much the necessity for an aggressive movement, but for what one might term a successful defensive—offensive, and it cannot be gainsaid—and even the Austrians themselves would admit it, that in this respect the Italians scored everywhere along the line.
General Cadorna’s remarkable power of intuition was evidenced by every movement of the army from the outset, but nowhere more noticeably than in the Trentino sector at this early stage of the war, when the slightest miscalculation on his part would most assuredly have spelt irretrievable disaster for Italy.
We were to have abundant proof of what his organizing genius, combined with the patriotic ardour of the troops, had been able to accomplish in the short space of three months.
After eight days spent in and around Brescia we motored to Verona, the next stage as arranged on our programme. Our road was across country, and therefore some considerable distance from the Front, so beyond being a delightful trip through glorious scenery, there was nothing very special about it; touring motorists having done it hundreds of times.
There was a noteworthy absence of any signs of military movements in the rural districts, and the peasants were apparently going about their usual peaceful avocations as unconcernedly as though the war were in another country instead of being a comparatively short distance away. In this respect, however, one felt that the motor journeys we were scheduled to make from centre to centre would prove exceedingly interesting, as they would afford us an insight of the conditions prevailing in the rear of the Front, not an unimportant factor in forming one’s impressions.
In Verona, had one been holiday making, many hours might have been profitably spent in “doing” the place. As it was, my time was fully occupied from the hour we arrived till the moment we left, and it was, I am grieved to have to confess it, only by accident that I was able to snatch the time to see anything of the artistic treasures of the famous old city.
As a matter of fact, you scarcely had a moment to yourself if you wanted to get any work done, as we only remained three days in Verona.
The reason for thus curtailing our stay did not transpire. In this sector of the Front the most important operations in the Trentino were taking place, and the Austrians were straining every nerve in order to stay the victorious progress of the Italians, but the lightning rapidity of their advance had proved irresistible, and had forced a retirement to their second line. To dislodge them from this was the tack the Italians had before them when we were in Verona.
The axis of the Trentino is obviously Trent, and in due course of time it will doubtless fall into the hands of the Italians, but the date of that event is on the knees of the gods.
Meanwhile the focus of the operations in August 1915, was the fortified position of Roveretto, which has been described as the “strategic heart” of the Trentino, and which guards the Austrian portion of the valley of the Adige. Enclosed within several rings of entrenchments and an outer chain of modern forts of the most formidable character, it presented a redoubtable barrier to the advance of the Italians into the Trentino in this direction.
But the lightning-like strategy of Cadorna upset all the plans of the Austrian generals and, formidable though these defences were, they were gradually being mastered.
Fort Pozzachio, which might have proved the most serious obstacle of all, and have involved a long siege before it was captured, turned out to be little more than a dummy fortress in so far as defensive possibilities were concerned, and had to be abandoned at the commencement of the war. This step being decided on by the Austrians in consequence, as they stated in their communiqué, of its not being in readiness to offer any prolonged resistance if besieged.
It transpired later that, although years had been spent working on it and vast sums of money expended, it was so far from being completed when war was declared that its heavy armament had not yet arrived. It had been intended to make of it a stronghold which would be practically impregnable.
Even now, it is a veritable modern Ehrenbreitstein, but with this difference: it is not built on a rock but excavated out of the summit of a lofty craig, which is quite inaccessible from the Italian side. Although only about four miles from Roveretto, its surrender did not help the Italians over much, in so far as the operations in that zone were immediately concerned, but its loss must have been a severe blow to Austrian pride.
It was said that it had been the intention of the Austrians to blow it up rather than let the Italians reap the advantage of all the labour that they had wasted on it, and in this connection there was a story going round at the time that seemed circumstantial enough to be worth recounting.
On the day of the occupation of the fortress an engineer officer, strolling about examining the construction of the place, happened to catch his foot in what he took to be a loose telephone wire, which had apparently been accidentally pulled in from outside.
In disengaging it his attention was attracted by a peculiar object attached to the wire, when to his surprise he found that it was an electrical contrivance connected with a live fuse leading to a positive mine of dynamite in one of the lower galleries.
A small splinter of rock had somehow got mixed up with the detonator, and thus, as though by a miracle, the fortress and the Italian troops in it had been saved from destruction. Almost needless to add, the wire led from the nearest Austrian position.
We only made one excursion from Verona, but it was of extreme interest in view of what was taking place at the time in this sector of the Front. It was to Ala, a small Austrian town in the valley of the Adige, which had been captured a few weeks previously.
There had been some sharp fighting in the streets, as many of the houses bore witness to, but its chief interest to us lay in the fact that it was in redeemed territory, and actually within the portals of Austrian Trentino. Like, however, most of the liberated towns I had visited, Ala was more Italian than Austrian.
The whole region was positively alive with warlike energy ([see page 75])
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The Mayor offered a lunch to the correspondents, and the usual patriotic toasts followed. Afterwards we motored to the nearest position, which was only a short distance from the town. Crossing the river Adige on our way by an ingenious ferry-boat, constructed by the engineers, the Austrians having destroyed the only bridge in the vicinity. The “ferry” consisted of two big barges clamped together, then boarded over and steered by an immense paddle projecting from the after part. It was worked on the fixed-rope and sliding-pulley principle, the swift current supplying the motive power.
We had all been looking forward to getting a good conception of the operations, which just then were of vital importance, but we were to be disappointed; we were only to be permitted a long range view.
On reaching a small hamlet on the bank of the river a few hundred yards further on we were informed we could not proceed beyond this point. We had, therefore, to be content with what we could see from the roadway, which overlooked the river.
The coup d’oeil was magnificent, though not so impressive as what we had seen previously. Before us stretched the broad valley of the Adige; its swiftly running stream divided up here by numerous gravel islets. On the opposite bank was the railway line to Trent and the town of Seravalle; whilst facing it on our side was Chizzola.
Away in the distance bathed in the effulgence of the glorious summer afternoon, were the Stivo and other high hills, on which are the forts guarding Roveretto, hidden from our view by a bend in the river.
Now and again one saw a tiny piff of white smoke, and heard the muffled boom of artillery, but this was the only indication that any operations were in progress. It was all so vast and so swamped as it were by the immensity of the landscape that it was difficult to grasp what was taking place.
A few hundred yards further down the road where we were standing was the picturesque village of Pilcante, almost hidden in luxuriant foliage.
In the immediate foreground and standing out in discordant detail was a barbed-wire entanglement barricading the road, and guarded by a detachment of infantry; whilst immediately below the parapet which skirted the pathway, a cottage and a small garden on a spot of ground jutting into the river had been transformed into a sort of miniature “position” with an armoured trench, disguised by small trees stuck in the walls.
It occurred to me that all this would make an interesting sketch; as a matter of fact, it was the only subject that had appealed to me that day, so I got out my book, and had just finished it when I felt a touch on my shoulder and someone whispered in my ear:
“Be careful, sketching is not allowed here.” I looked round—it was one of the officers accompanying us.
“Not allowed?” I queried; “surely there must be some mistake.”
“Not at all,” he replied; “special instructions were issued by the General that no sketches or photographs were to be made here.”
As this was the first time I had heard of any restrictions since we had started on the tour, my surprise may be imagined, and the more especially as nothing apparently could have been more innocent than the subject I had chosen.
“Well, I’m sorry, but what you tell me comes too late as I have already made a sketch,” said I, showing it to him. “What shall I do?”
The officer, a very good fellow, laughed and shrugged his shoulders: “Put your book back in your pocket and don’t let anyone see it; there are several staff officers about.”
The finish of the incident was equally curious. I worked up a double page drawing from the sketch in question, and, of course, submitted it to the censors. It aroused a good deal of comment, but it was eventually “passed” on condition that I altered the title and took out all the names of the towns, mountains, etc.; only the vaguest suggestion as to where I had made it being permitted.
In spite of the fact that the Austrians had the geographical advantage of position almost everywhere, and that their frontier was comparatively so close to many important Italian cities, the intrepid advance of the Italian troops upset all the calculations of the Austrian generals, and, instead of advancing into Italian territory, they found themselves forced to act on the defensive some distance to the rear of their first line positions, and well inside their own frontier. But it was no easy task for the Italians, and tested their valour and endurance to the utmost.
The fighting in the ravines and on the sides of the mountains was of the most desperate character, for in this warfare at close quarters it is man to man, and individual courage tells more than it does down on the plains.
Here, in the fastnesses of nature, every clump of trees or isolated rocks are potential ambuscades. So it requires the utmost caution, combined with almost reckless daring, to advance at any time.
The Austrians, though well provided with heavy artillery, were quite unable to hold on to their positions. It was brute force pitted against skill and enthusiastic courage, and brute force was worsted as it generally is under such conditions.
Our two next “stages,” Vicenza and Belluno, brought us into the very heart of the fighting on the line of the Italian advance in the Eastern Trentino towards Bolzano and the region round Monte Cristallo.
We halted a couple of days at Vicenza to enable us to visit the positions of Fiera di Primero. The Italian lines here were some distance inside Austrian territory, so we had a good opportunity of judging for ourselves the difficulties that had to be overcome to have advanced so far, as well as the preparations that had been made by the Austrians for their proposed invasion of Italy.
Cunningly concealed trenches, barbed-wire entanglements and gun emplacements commanded every approach, whilst protecting the advance of troops. It seemed incredible that such well planned works should have been abandoned.
But here as elsewhere the lightning strategy of Cadorna left the Austrian commanders no option. Monte Marmolada, 11,000 ft. high, and other mountains on which the Austrians had placed heavy artillery, were captured by degrees. The strategic value of these positions was incontestable.
Unless one has seen the Dolomites it is impossible to form any conception of what these successes mean or the terrible difficulties that had to be surmounted to gain them.
Neither Dante nor Doré in their wildest and most fantastic compositions ever conceived anything more awe-inspiring than warfare amidst these towering peaks.
At all times they exercise a kind of weird fascination which is positively uncanny; add the thunder of modern artillery and the effect is supernatural. You try hard to realize what it means fighting amongst these jagged pinnacles and on the edges of the awful precipices.
Death, however, has little terror for the men, judging from the look on the faces of the mortally wounded one saw from time to time brought down from the trenches.
A little incident related to me by Calza Bedolo brings home the spirit of Italy’s soldiers.
He had shortly before come upon a stretcher-party carrying down from the mountains a very dangerously wounded man. Upon enquiry as to how the wound had been caused he was informed that it was a case of attempted suicide.
What had led up to this desperate act? It appeared that for some trivial breach of discipline the man had been deprived of the privilege of a place in the front trenches and sent to a position in the rear!
The most important of all the strategic points at that time was the Col di Lana, which dominates the Falzarego and Livinallongo passes, close to Cortina d’Ampezzo. Here the Austrians were putting up a defence which was taxing the strength and resources of the Italians, to their utmost, but it was gradually being overcome.
Every mountain which commanded the position was being mounted with guns of the heaviest calibre, and big events were said to be looming in the near future.
As a matter of fact, it was only six months later that the Italians succeeded in capturing the Col di Lana, so strongly were the Austrians entrenched on it. A young engineer conceived the idea of mining it, and so successful was he that the entire summit of the mountain, with the Austrian positions, was literally blown away.
One of the most interesting of the excursions the English group of correspondents made was to the top of a mountain facing it. As it would have been a very trying climb for amateur mountaineers like ourselves, mules were considerately supplied by the General of the division. So we accomplished the ascent in easy fashion, for it was certain that very few of us would have tackled it on foot.
The sturdy Alpini who accompanied us treated the excursion as a good sort of joke apparently, and plodded steadily alongside us in the test of spirits, laughing now and again at our vain efforts to keep our steeds from walking on the extreme edge of the precipices.
This ride gave us a splendid opportunity of seeing how the Italians have surmounted the difficulty of getting heavy artillery to the very summits of mountains, where no human foot had trodden before the war broke out. Rough and terribly steep in places though the road was, still it was a real roadway and not a mere track as one might have expected to find considering how rapidly it had been made. Men were still at work consolidating it at the turns on scientific principles, and in a few weeks, with the continual traffic passing up and down it, it would present all the appearance of an old established road.
It is the method of getting the guns and supplies up these great heights in the first instance that “starts” the road as it were. Nothing could be simpler or more efficacious.
It consists in actually cutting the track for the guns just in advance of them as they are gradually pushed and hauled forward. The position and angle of the track being settled before starting by the engineers.
This, of course, takes time at first, especially when the acclivity is very steep, but it has the advantage of breaking the way for whatever follows. The rough track is then gradually improved upon by the succeeding gun teams, and so a well constructed zig-zag military roadway gradually comes into being.
We left the mules a short distance from the summit and had to climb the rest of the way. Instead of an artillery position as we expected to find, it was an observation post, with a telephone cabin built in a gap in the rocks, and a hut for half a dozen soldiers on duty.
The little station was quite hidden from the Austrians, although only a couple of thousand yards distant. It was a most important spot, as from here the fire of all the batteries round about was controlled.
We were received by the Colonel commanding this sector of the artillery, a grizzled warrior, wearing a knitted woollen sleeping cap pulled well down over his ears, which gave him a somewhat quaint and unmilitary appearance.
The “observation post” was merely a small hole through the rocks, and so awkward to get at that only two people could look through it at the same time. Immediately facing you across a shallow valley was a barren hill of no great elevation (of course it must be remembered we were here several thousand feet up). There was no sign of life or vegetation, and it looked so singularly bare and uninteresting that unless you had been told to look at it your attention would never have been attracted to it.
Yet this was the much talked of Col di Lana. Seen, however, through field glasses its aspect altered considerably, and you could not fail to notice what appeared to be row upon row of battered stone walls, and also that the ridge was very much broken up, shewing patches everywhere of red sand.
The “stone walls,” the Colonel told us, were what remained of the Austrian trenches and the patches of sand were caused by the incessant bombardment by the Italians. At that moment there was not the slightest sign of military activity anywhere, no sound of a gun disturbed the still air.
It seemed incredible that we were gazing on the most redoubtable position on the whole Front, and one that for weeks had barred the Italian advance in this direction.
Someone remarked that it did not look so very formidable after all, and asked the Colonel if it would really mean a very big effort to capture it.
“To take that innocent looking summit now,” he replied gravely, “would necessitate attacking it with a couple of hundred thousand men and being prepared to lose half of them. We shall get it by other means, but it will take some time; meanwhile every yard of it is covered by my batteries.”
We continued to gaze on the silent landscape with increasing interest, when suddenly, as though an idea had occurred to him, the Colonel said that if we did not mind waiting twenty minutes or so he would show us what his gunners could do. Of course we asked for nothing better. So he went up to the telephone cabin and was there a little while; he then came back and told us to follow him.
He led the way down a ravine enclosed by lofty cliffs close by. At the foot of it were large boulders, some with sandbags spread on them. This was his sharpshooter’s lair, he informed us, but for the moment they were not there.
We were then told to hide ourselves as much as possible behind the rocks and watch what was going to happen on the Col di Lana, which was in full view from here.
“We are right under fire here, but you are fairly safe if you keep well under cover,” he added, as a sort of final recommendation when he saw us all placed.
The stillness of death reigned for the next ten minutes perhaps. We kept our eyes glued on the fateful hill opposite, not exactly knowing what was going to happen, when all of a sudden there was the crash of a big gun and we heard the shriek of a shell as it passed overhead; then, with scarcely an interval this was followed up by such a succession of firing that it sounded like a thunderstorm let loose.
The effect on the Col di Lana was startling: it was as though a series of volcanoes had started activity, all along the summit and just below it fantastic columns of smoke and dust rose high into the air. As the Colonel had truly said, every yard of the hill was under the fire of his batteries.
It was an object lesson in precision of aim, and one almost felt sorry for the men who were thus, without the slightest warning, deluged with high explosives. Meanwhile the Austrian batteries did not fire a shot in reply.
The bombardment lasted exactly ten minutes, and ceased as abruptly as it had started.
“Wonderful,” we all exclaimed when we were reassembled at the station. The Colonel looked delighted with the way his instructions had been carried out.
At that moment we heard the telephone bell ringing violently; he excused himself and hurried to the box, and was there some minutes. When he returned the look of elation on his face had disappeared.
“That was the General ringing up,” he explained. “He heard the firing and wanted to know what had happened suddenly. He is in an awful rage at my giving you this entertainment.”
Of course we were all very sorry that he should have got into trouble on our account, but he seemed to make light of it, and evidently had no fear of unpleasant consequences. We then left the place and retraced our footsteps.
There was no mule-riding going down the mountain unless you wanted to break your neck. It was far too steep, therefore we had to walk the whole way, a very long and tiring job.
In the valley below was the village of Caprile, where we had arranged to meet our cars. A mountain stream ran past the village, and there was a broad, open space of ground facing the houses, in which was a large encampment with long sheds and hundreds of horses and mules picketted.
As we were walking across to the inn, where we were going to lunch, we heard the dull boom of a gun in the distance, and in a few seconds the approaching wail of a projectile, followed by the report of the explosion a short distance away, and we saw the shell had burst on the hillside a few feet from the Red Cross Hospital.
We had been remarking how quietly the Austrians had taken our artillery attack. This was evidently the commencement of their reply.
The report had scarcely died away than there was a general scurrying of everyone for shelter; mules and horses were rapidly released and hurriedly led away. Then another report was heard in the distance.
This time there was no doubt we were in for a regular bombardment. So with one accord we all made for a low parapet skirting the river, which would afford some cover, and without stopping to look what was behind it, leaped over like two-year-olds just as another shell burst in the open close by.
I don’t think I am ever likely to forget where we found ourselves: below the parapet was the village muck-heap, and we were in the very midst of it. Unsavoury though the recollection is, it makes me smile when I recall it and the look on the faces of everyone who had taken refuge there.
If there was any luck as to position I perhaps, with two others, had the best of it, for we were only in manure and rotten straw, though we were in it up to our waists.
So soon as the report of the guns reached us we all listened intently till we heard the approaching shell, then crouched down as low as possible in the filth, and waited till the explosion was over. I remember I found myself thinking at these moments that it could not have been worse out in the open.
After some minutes in this unpleasant predicament there was a lull in the firing, so a dash was made for the village, and in company with a crowd of soldiers we took refuge behind a house.
Whilst there we witnessed a fine example of coolness. A white-moustached old Colonel, a splendid looking fellow, kept pacing up and down out in the open regardless of the bursting shells, in order to make sure all his men were keeping under cover, and worked himself quite into a rage because some of them would persist in exposing themselves.
The bombardment only lasted about an hour, and then gradually died out. As far as I could ascertain, no one was killed, and no great damage done, but several animals were wounded; one, a mule, was badly injured in the side, and the way the ambulance men gave it a sort of temporary dressing was quite curious, and showed much resource on their part. They fastened up the gaping wound with ordinary safety pins, using nearly a dozen for the purpose, whilst soldiers held on the animal’s tail and fore leg to prevent its taking objection to the treatment.
A very useful-looking Nordenfeldt quick-firer mounted on the fore-deck ([see page 77])
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