CHAPTER X
Belluno—Venadoro in the heart of the Dolomites—A fine hotel—Tame excursions—Visit to Cortina d’Ampezzo—Austrian attempts to recapture it—305mm. guns on the Schluderbach—Long range bombardment—Austrian women and children in the town—Italians capture Monte Cristallo—Aeroplanes and observation balloons impossible here—Tofana in hands of Italians—Serenity of garrison—Cortina d’Ampezzo—General invites us to a déjeuner—Living at Venadoro—Delightful camaraderie—Evenings in the big saloon—From Belluno to Gemona—Description of Front in this Sector—Our excursion to Pal Grande—The road—On mules up the mountain—A warning—Rough track—Peasant women carrying barbed wire up to the trenches—Pay of the women—Much competition for “vacancies”—The climb from Pal Piccolo to Pal Grande—A wonderful old man—“Some” climb—The entrenched position on Pal Grande—Spice of danger—Violent artillery duel—The noise of the passing shells—Magnificent view—Timau—The Freikoffel—Its capture by the Alpini—Wounded lowered by ropes—Capture of Pal Grande—Presence of mind of a doctor—A telling incident—Extraordinary enthusiasm of the troops—Food convoys—The soldier’s menu—Daily rations—Rancio; the plat du jour—Officers mess arrangements—An al fresco lunch on Pal Grande—The “mess-room”—“Pot Luck”—A wonderful meal—A stroll round the position—An improvised bowling alley—Use is second nature—In the trenches—A veteran warrior—The pet of the position—Gemona—The list of lodgings—My landlady—Good restaurants in Gemona—The Alpini quartered there—The military tatoo in the evenings—Reception by the Mayor—A delightful week.
CHAPTER X
The military authorities had arranged for the correspondents and the staff of the censorship to be quartered in the big modern hydropathic establishment and hotel in the heart of the Dolomites, known as Venadoro, some eight kilometres from Belluno, and we remained there ten days, making frequent visits to the Front of this sector and into Austrian territory.
Although these excursions were extremely interesting many of them were very tame, and there were days when we did not hear a gun fired. This though of course disappointing, was quite comprehensible. Important operations were being carried out everywhere, but these did not of necessity entail daily conflict.
We happened to visit Cortina d’Ampezzo, for instance, at a moment when its aspect was so peaceful that the war seemed to have given it the go-by; yet the guns were only silent by accident, as it were, for the Italian offensive was being pursued without intermission, and only a short distance from here fighting was taking place night and day. It was, therefore, somewhat difficult to realize from its tranquility the enormous importance attaching to this picturesque little Alpine township.
Its loss had been a terrible blow to Austrian pride, and several efforts had been made to recapture it, but as these had failed they had endeavoured to destroy it and thus prevent the Italians from profiting by its possession.
With this object in view, so typical of Hun methods, they had succeeded in placing several 305mm. guns on the heights along the Schluderbach valley, from which they could bombard Cortina d’Ampezzo at long range, and had already done so on one or two occasions, but, fortunately, without causing any loss of life or doing much damage.
The hellishness of this procedure will be more fully grasped when it is remembered that the majority of the inhabitants were only women and children, and mostly Austrians at that.
The continued successes of the Italians, and the rapidity of their advance was, however, gradually but irresistibly pressing the Austrians back, and it was expected that within a very short while Cortina d’Ampezzo would be freed from the menace of the big projectiles.
With dogged courage and endurance which could not be surpassed by any troops in the world, the Italians stormed Monte Cristallo, 10,600 feet high, thus capturing a position which commands the valley of Schluderbach, and forcing the enemy to retreat towards Colfreddo and Croda Rosso (Hohe Gaisl), some ten kilometres to the north, where new defensive works were being hastily improvised.
In this mountain warfare where it is impossible to make use of aeroplanes and observation balloons owing to the configuration of the country, it is obvious that the initial operations are mainly directed towards gaining positions which can be utilized for the purposes of watching the movements of the enemy and directing artillery fire.
In this respect the Italians have scored all along the line, for the superior skill of their artillerymen is incontestable, apart from which the quality of their ammunition appears to be far ahead of anything the Austrians have been using.
At the time of our visit all the heights encircling the Cortina Valley were already in the hands of the Italians, including Tofana, 10,700 feet high, which dominates the Eastern end of the Falzarego Pass, and is in a way a factor in the operations against the Col di Lana on the other side. So that the chances of the Austrians ever recapturing Cortina d’Ampezzo are absolutely nil.
That the serenity of its garrison is in no way disturbed by an occasional visit from a long range shell was pleasingly evidenced by the General inviting us all to a déjeuner at one of the big hotels which was still open. It could not have been better served or more copious in peace time.
Our comparatively long stay at Venadoro was not without its compensations, in spite of the fact that there was little to be seen on the neighbouring Front.
We were all living together in a well-appointed hotel, so it afforded an opportunity of getting to know and appreciate each other in a way that never occurred in the other places we stopped at, where everyone was on his own, so to speak, and when you scarcely met, except by chance for a few moments at the Censorship.
Here, at Venadoro, Italian, French and English fraternised in a delightful spirit of healthy camaraderie and although we all shut ourselves up in our rooms during the daytime when we were not on an excursion, in order to get on with our work undisturbed, we all met for lunch, and the evenings after dinner saw us united in the big saloon, where with music, billiards, and bridge the time passed very cheerily.
Knowing the wonderful organization of the Italian Headquarters Staff, I was sometimes tempted to wonder whether the assembly of the Allied correspondents at Venadoro was not something more than a mere casual arrangement for the convenience of the Censorship.
Whatever was missing in the shape of military spectacle on the Belluno Front was amply made up for by what we were able to see at the next stage of our journey, the little town of Gemona. From here we made what was undoubtedly the most interesting of all our excursions.
The Front on this sector is in the Upper But mountain group on the Frontier, which comprises Monte Timau, Montecroce, the Freikoffel, Pal Grande and Pal Piccolo—every one of them a position of first-class importance, and the scene of desperate fighting and deeds of valour probably unsurpassed in the annals of mountain warfare.
Our road lay through Venzone, Tolmezzo and Paluzza, and there was sufficient military movement all the way to prove we were in a zone of active military operations, even if the booming of the guns in the distance had not borne this out.
A little beyond Paluzza, just outside the village of Muse, we found mules waiting for us, and we commenced a long, steep ascent which was to land us at the foot of Pal Piccolo, beyond which point the climb had to be made on foot. We were quite a small party, mostly English I may add.
About half way up we arrived at a hut where we were met by the Colonel of the Artillery, who courteously explained the nature and scope of the operations, concluding by warning us that we were going up at our own risk, as the whole of this particular sector was constantly under fire.
It had been but the merest pretence at a road so far, but beyond there it became but little better than a rough goat track, and terribly trying for our animals.
On one of the worst portions we passed a gang of peasant women carrying barbed wire up to the trenches. I knew that everybody in the war zone is doing his or her bit, but I must confess I was somewhat surprised to see women engaged on so arduous a task as this, which calls for unusual muscle and nerve, apart from an exceptionally hardy physique. This will be realised when one learns that each of these apparently insignificant coils of barbed wire weighs close on fifty pounds dead weight.
When we passed this convoy, although it was high up in the mountains, and the women must have been tramping for some hours, they were all as cheerful as possible, and appeared to regard their job as a sort of pleasure jaunt. Considering also that the big guns were thundering close by and shells bursting in somewhat close proximity, it was a good example of use being second nature.
Girls as well as women are employed. They are paid two lires a day and their food is provided. It is a condition that they must come from the villages round about the sector in which they are employed, and there is, I learn, always keen competition for any “vacancies.”
Many of the girls I saw were distinctly good-looking, and the bright tones of their picturesque costumes made a cheerful and unexpected note of colour against the dull grey of the wild mountain pass.
At the foot of Pal Piccolo our party divided. It looked like a terrific climb up to the summit of Pal Grande, and most of the men thought “it wasn’t good enough,” and decided to explore the lesser peak only. Five of us, including myself, went on: Jeffries, Bedolo, Molinari, another Italian whose name I forget for the moment, and, of course one or two officers.
I am sorry I cannot recall the name of the other Italian correspondent, as he was a perfect wonder. Although quite an old man—he was close on seventy if he was a day—he was certainly the coolest and most unconcerned of the party.
The stiff climb did not appear to trouble him in the least, nor did the bursting shells. He simply strolled up ahead of us all as though he was taking a constitutional, with his hands in his pockets, disdaining the assistance of an alpenstock. Dressed in an ordinary tweed suit, and wearing a straw hat, his appearance was singularly out of keeping with the surroundings. His nonchalance was positively irritating, and he reached the top without turning a hair.
It was indeed “some” climb, though fortunately for me there were no hair-raising bits to bring on mountain vertigo. It meant simply plodding up and up amongst loose boulders at an angle of 75 degrees.
But if there were no perilous edges of precipices to negotiate, it was none the less nerve-racking, as we were under shell fire more or less the whole way, and many of the projectiles, which were of heavy calibre, burst in unpleasant proximity to the track we were mounting.
The last bit up into the trenches had to be done at the double, and crouching down, as we were here in full view of the Austrian lines, and snipers were constantly at work. Once inside the sand-bag ramparts we were in comparative security.
The entrenched position on Pal Grande was undoubtedly the most interesting and impressive of all we had visited so far, and amply repaid one for the tiring climb to get to it. Perhaps the contrast it presented to the somewhat tame excursions we had previously made had something to do with this impression, but it is certain that here we were in the very midst of the “real thing,” and were sharing the same perils as the officers and soldiers around us.
It was the spice of ever-present danger that gave, as it were, an extra zest to being there, and made one the more appreciate all one saw. The Austrian artillery was firing continuously over us, and there was an incessant fusillade from their trenches, which were not more than a couple of hundred yards away—so close in fact that you could have plainly seen the men in them had they shewn themselves.
The difference between this entrenched position in the mountains and others we had been into was very great; in fact, it struck me as being unlike anything I had seen elsewhere.
Here the enemy’s trenches were below us, and we were midway between the Austrian and Italian batteries, so that in the violent artillery duel which was going on all the time we were on Pal Grande the projectiles were passing overhead continuously, with a noise reminding one of a big railway junction with an endless succession of express trains going by.
Of course all the shells did not pass over us, but exploded round about on the mountain side, too near in several instances to be pleasant, especially when their objective appeared to be the direction in which we had come up.
At times, in fact, one began to wonder if it would not be too “hot” for us to get back that day, and that a big attack was developing. Fortunately, the Austrian gunners did not know how close to the Italian position they were dropping their shells, as they were only firing blindly in our direction.
The view one got from here was magnificent. Towering above us on our right, as we faced the Frontier, was Timau, nearly 10,000 feet high; in the near distance, and just behind it, across the Frontier was Avostaunis, only slightly less in height.
Almost facing us to the left were the precipitous slopes of the Freikoffel, which the Alpini had captured at the point of the bayonet, and under the fire of the Austrian guns a short time previously.
How mortal man could be found to scale these giddy heights at all, leave alone under such awful conditions, baffles me. There are no tracks at all to ascend by it, so it is a mystery how it was accomplished.
The Austrians abandoned all their positions here so precipitately that they left their wounded behind, who, together with those of the Italians, had to be actually lowered by ropes from the summit, there being no other means of bringing them down to the ambulances.
Pal Grande had been the scene of several sanguinary fights before its final capture by the Italians not long before our visit to it; at one moment, in fact, the Austrians looked like re-taking it, so desperate and reckless was the counter-attack. It is said that had it not been for the presence of mind and initiative of one of the military doctors it was practically lost.
He was attending the wounded in a temporary ambulance station at the back of the firing line when he realised the danger of the situation. Men and officers were falling all along the line, and it was imperative that their places should be immediately occupied if the position was to be held. On the spur of the moment it occurred to him to call on the least wounded of the men he was looking after to try and help.
Explaining to them how critical was the situation, and also what was likely to happen to them if the Austrians recaptured the place, he stirred up such excitement and ardour that, regardless for the moment of the pain they were suffering from their wounds, those that were able sprang to their feet and returned to the trenches where, seizing the rifles of their fallen comrades, they managed to continue to defend the position till reinforcements arrived.
If there was one thing more than another that struck me whilst amongst the troops in the mountains, it was the extraordinary enthusiasm displayed everywhere, even here in this bleak and exposed position; the moral of the men was incomparable, and they seemed to be blessed with an inexhaustible stock of good humour and the power of taking things cheerfully. It was indeed impossible to mix with them and not feel the influence of their youthful eagerness and their confidence in ultimate victory.
Napoleon’s well known aphorism that an army fights on its belly is well borne out in the Italian Army; and even on these lofty peaks the soldier, whatever he may have to endure in the shape of inevitable hardship, never suffers from want of food and well-cooked meals.
The food convoys make their journeys with unfailing regularity, for there must be no hitch in the commissariat arrangements—and it is safe to assert that there is not a single soldier, no matter how isolated he may be, who does not receive every day his regulation allowance of 400 grammes of meat (about half a pound), a kilo and a half of bread, macaroni or polenta, coffee, tobacco, and half a litre of wine.
Of course the menu is not very varied, but neither is the national Italian cuisine at any time. Rancio, a soup-like stew, made of meat and macaroni or some similar pasta, with a sufficiency of good, wholesome bread and a drink of red wine, should be sufficient to satisfy the appetite of any soldier.
I made a meal of rancio on many occasions after a long and cold motor run, and always found it so appetising and comforting that I wished I could have got it every day. This stew is the usual plat du jour of the Italian soldier as is the stchi in the Russian Army, and is always served out steaming hot.
In advanced trenches, outposts or similar exposed positions, where culinary operations are, of course, impossible, the rancio is taken to the men after dark in special receptacles for keeping it hot, known as Cassette di Cottura, which are constructed on the Thermos principle. The men would indeed begin to think things were going badly if the “food party” could not succeed in reaching them.
So far as the officers are concerned, these mess arrangements, when up in the fighting line, of course, depend largely on circumstances, though these do not seem to be always governed by the difficulty of access to the position or its remoteness from the base.
I had a pleasant proof of this at Pal Grande. The officers hospitably insisted on our taking “pot luck” with them, as they were just going to have lunch, and it turned out one of the best al fresco repasts I have ever sat down to.
The “mess-room” was a well-protected dug-out which had been fitted up in somewhat similar fashion to a settler’s hut in the Far West; it was quite snug, in fact, and we were a merry party crowded round the table that occupied nearly the whole of the interior, in spite of the continuous booming of the guns and the screech of the shells overhead.
I had quite expected to get the roughest of meals in the circumstances; imagine, therefore, my surprise when we started with a fine macaroni soup; this was followed by beef steaks and fried potatoes; then came a jam omelette, and we finished up with cheese and fruit, the whole being washed down with excellent Verona wine. Black coffee was then brought in, and one of our hosts produced a bottle of cognac and a box of cigars.
You could not have wished for a more delightful meal: it made one feel that even life in an entrenchment 8,000 feet up has its compensations at times.
Of course it would not do to infer that in all positions the officers were able to indulge in so sumptuous a “pot luck” repast, but I gathered that whenever it is possible a mess is formed, a cook found from amongst the men, and meals served comfortably.
Before us stretched the broad valley of the Adige ([see page 101])
To face page 124
In outlying positions, where frequently everything is, so to speak, stagnant for weeks at a time, this messing arrangement goes a long way towards relieving the inevitable monotony and weariness of trench life and the strain on the nerves caused by the constant vigil.
After lunch we went out for a stroll round the position, passing on our way an improvised bowling alley, where a crowd of soldiers off duty were interestedly watching a match in progress. Had it not been for the sand-bag breastworks around us and the incessant noise of the guns, it would have been hard to realise that we were in one of the most exposed positions on this Front, and were actually under fire the whole time. That one can get accustomed to anything was exemplified here, as the officers and men were quite unperturbed by what was to them merely a daily contingency.
There was no heavy artillery on the Pal Grande when we were there; only a few machine guns, as the place was for the moment but an entrenched outpost, which had to be constantly on the alert against a surprise attack from the enemy’s lines below.
I had a walk along the trenches where the men were firing through the loopholes as unconcernedly as though at a shooting competition instead of having human beings for their target.
The Austrians were scarcely a hundred yards away in places, so it did not require to be an expert marksman to hit anything at that range; but it was not often that anything shewed itself above the parapets, either on the Austrian or the Italian side; still the men kept up a constant fusillade, for what reason I could not ascertain, except that perhaps it was to prove that no liberties were possible.
Whilst in the trenches I was introduced to two important characters of the position. One, a white-haired old veteran well over sixty years of age, who was serving as a volunteer. A fearless, wiry old chap I was told, and who could hold his own even now with any individual Austrian if ever he had the opportunity.
The other character was the pet of the position, a jolly little fox terrier that had, I was told, gone through all the fighting, and had now the run of the place and was looked upon as a mascot by the officers and men; in fact, there would be much perturbation if any harm came to it; curiously enough this was the only occasion that I saw a dog in the trenches.
Gemona was a quaint little town, or rather big village, and the inhabitants were delighted to see us, and proved it by not overcharging in the least.
When we arrived and reported at the Censorship, which was established in the Town Hall, we were given a list of houses where lodgings could be obtained, with the prices affixed. This was a capital idea, and worked out admirably; it saved a lot of time running about hunting for rooms, and as only those lodgings recommended by the Mayor were in the lists there was no risk of unpleasant surprises.
I got fixed up at a very nice house, and the landlady, a delightful old person, did her utmost to make me comfortable, as I used my room for a studio also. Considering she only charged one lire and a half a day it could not be considered excessive.
For our coffee in the morning we usually used to meet at a café; for lunch and dinner there was no lack of choice, as curiously enough for so small a place, there were several really good restaurants.
There was a regiment of Alpini quartered there, a splendid body of men, giving one the impression of picked athletes all, and of an evening their band always gave a military tatoo, wet or fine, marching through the main streets with torches and finishing on the Place with a short concert. A very inspiriting procedure, which considerably helped to liven us all up, and the more especially as this was the only place on the Front where we had heard military music.
The night before we left, the Mayor gave us a reception and vin d’honneur, which further helped to emphasise the good feeling which existed between us all. We had spent a delightful week in Gemona.