CHAPTER XI
Gemona to Udine—Final stage of official journey—Regrets—Arrival at Udine—List of recommended lodgings—My room—My landlady an Austrian woman—I pay my respects to General Cafarelli—My friend Dr. Berthod—My old studio at the Agrario—The Isonzo Front—Many rumours—Off on our biggest trip; 245 kilometres in the car—Roads excellent and well-looked after—A great change—Cormons quite an Italian town—Same with other towns in conquered territory—Observatory on Monte Quarin—A splendid bird’s-eye view—The plain of Friuli—Podgora—The Carso—The hum of aeroplanes—The Isonzo Sector—The immense difficulties—Received by the General—A pleasant goûter—Lieutenant Nathan, Ex-Mayor of Rome—The Subida lines of trenches—Explanation of Italian successes everywhere—Caporetto via Tolmino—A desolate region—Road along the Isonzo—The mighty limestone cliffs of Monte Nero—The great exploit of its capture recalled—One mountain road very much like another—Nothing to sketch—Perfect organization—The fog of dust—Caporetto—Not allowed to motor beyond—Important strategic operations—Monte Rombon—Difficult to locate Austrian guns—A glimpse of Plezzo—The situation here—Excursion to Gradisca via Palmanova, a semi-French town—Romans—Curious rearrangement of cars—Only two allowed proceed to Gradisca under fire—The Italian batteries at work—The deserted streets—The “observatory” room—The iron screens—View of Monte San Michele being bombarded—Stroll through the town—A big shell—Excursion to Cervignano, Aquileia and Grado—Peaceful country-side—Grado the Austrian Ostend—Fish-lunch at a café—The town continually bombarded by aircraft—Arrival of Beaumont, the French airman—Conclusion of official tour of Front—No permission given for correspondents to remain—Success of tour—Comments on organization, etc.
CHAPTER XI
We were now nearing the final stage of our official journey along the Front, as there only remained the Isonzo Sector to complete the scheduled tour.
Although I was looking forward to revisiting Udine and seeing my friends there again, there was the feeling that the end of our sojourn amongst these cheery Italian soldiers was approaching, and the recollection of the decree that we were all to leave the war zone directly the tour was finished loomed up in one’s mind as a sort of bugbear.
One would have liked to spend an indefinite time in these scenes of warlike activity; there was so much to see, and we had really had so little time to see it in, and now, as we were getting into the “hang” of it all we had to think of leaving.
It was very irritating, and marred a good deal of the pleasant impression one had received during the tour. However, there was no help for it. We knew when we started that we were only invited on this understanding, so there was an end of it.
Udine is quite close to Gemona, so it only took a short time to motor there. On our arrival we found that following the example of the Mayor of Gemona, the Censorship had arranged for a list of recommended lodgings to be prepared for us.
I had at first intended returning to my old quarters at the Torra di Londra, but decided that it was perhaps better not, so took a room in the same house as my car companions.
Strange to relate, this room was in a flat rented by a young and good-looking Austrian woman, a dressmaker, who was married to an Italian. She was, to a certain extent, under police surveillance, I was told, but had not been interfered with otherwise. It struck me as a curious state of affairs, considering how strict were the police regulations with regard to foreigners, though there may have been some special motive in allowing an alien of her nationality to remain here unmolested.
Almost the first thing I did when I was settled was to go and pay my respects to General Cafarelli, the Military Governor of Udine, who, as may be remembered, had had me arrested and sent away to Florence some ten weeks previously. I sent in my card, and he received me very graciously for a man of his stern demeanour. He congratulated me on my altered circumstances, and we had almost a friendly chat anent the incident.
My friend, Dr. Berthod at the “Agrario,” told me my studio was still at my disposal; other people I met seemed pleased to see me back, so I felt quite at home again in a very short time.
A very full programme had been arranged for the correspondents during their stay here; the Isonzo Front being very much to the fore at the moment, in the direction of Gorizia especially, and all sorts of rumours were in the air with regard to coming events in the near future.
If, as it is said, coming events cast their shadows before, how long those shadows must have been if one only had known, and how despondent everyone would have been if it could have been realised then how many months would have to elapse before the coming events so freely prophesied would materialise.
Although I already knew a good deal about the Friuli Sector, there had been so much progress since I had been away from Udine that most of what we were going to see would be new to me. Moreover, it was a very different proposition being permitted to visit it to going about furtively and under constant fear of arrest.
The Isonzo Front now extended over a very large area, and was a long way inside Austrian territory. Roughly speaking, from Tirnova, in the valley of the Isonzo, a few miles above Caporetto, to Monfalcone on the Adriatic.
We were only to remain a week in Udine, so in order to obtain even the most cursory impression, in the short time at our disposal, of what was taking place in this wide zone of operations, entailed some long motor journeys. This was evidently the plan of the authorities, as they allowed us to lose no time in making a start.
At 6 o’clock in the morning following on our arrival we were off on what turned out to be the biggest trip we had made hitherto, and when we got back in the evening we had covered no less than 245 kilometres in the car, and without a hitch or contretemps.
It spoke volumes for the excellent manner in which the roads in the war zone are looked after. Heavy as military traffic was, seemingly endless, everywhere one saw gangs of men at work making repairs, where the surface had got broken up.
The three months that had elapsed since I was first on this Front, had effected a great change, but nowhere was it more marked than on the road to and beyond Cormons. The redeemed territory had now so completely settled down that it was hard to realise one was on Austrian territory, or rather, what had been so short a time previously.
Cormons had become quite an Italian town, and a very busy one at that. And the same could be said of Cervignano, Civiedale, Brazzano, Terzo, and every village where the Italians had passed. An extremely valuable slice of whilom Italian territory had passed back to its old allegiance and with but little fighting. And no damage had been done to either the maize crop or the vines.
Our programme for the day’s run was very comprehensive, and provided the car did not break down, we were certain to see much of absorbing interest.
Just beyond Cormons, on the summit of Mount Quarin, a wooded hill which dominates the town, and where an observatory had been established, you get a splendid bird’s-eye view of the whole of this important section of the Front.
Spread out at our feet, as it were, was the vast fertile plain of Friuli, every yard of which appeared to be under cultivation. The straight outlines of the fields were fringed by trees and presented a curious doll’s house and chequered appearance from this elevation.
On the far side of this plain, about four and a half miles distant from where we stood, were the hills enclosing the valley of the lower Isonzo, a curious succession of undulating ridges rising in places to a considerable height. There was a good deal of smoke and mist hanging about, and standing out in sharp relief against it was the peculiar hog-back contour of the blood-soaked ridge of Podgora bristling with the charred and shattered stumps of trees.
Even as we gazed, the distant boom of artillery reached our ears, and we saw shells bursting constantly along the summit and we knew that the attack which was costing so many gallant lives, was being vigorously pursued.
To the right of Podgora lay the Carso, and in the hollow between was Gorizia, the goal towards which all thoughts in Italy were then turned. Three eminences loomed up in the mist beyond: Monte Kuk, Monte Sabotino, and Monte Santo, the last-named being destined to play important rôles in the future. In the far distance, and only faintly distinguishable, towered the Mountains of Ternova.
The hum of aeroplanes was heard on all sides, and cleverly concealed anti-aircraft guns started firing viciously from time to time, more, however, with the object of keeping the enemy planes up as high as possible, then hitting them, as they seemed to run little or no risk, judging from the serene manner they hovered around.
The conditions along the Isonzo Sector are practically the antithesis of those prevailing in the mountainous regions of the Cadorre, Trentino, and Carnia. Here the low foothills and plains present opportunities for operations which remind one of those being carried out in Flanders and Northern France; armoured trenches, of course, playing the principal part everywhere.
Every attempt, therefore, by General Cadorna at a forward move in this direction had to be backed up, as it were, by defensive as well as offensive precautions, with the result that the entire Front of this region presents a series of lines of entrenchments and barbed-wire entanglements that are designed to afford an immediate protection should the advance fail, and a retirement prove necessary.
Prescience is evidently an innate characteristic of the Italian Generals of to-day, and I was continually noting it along the Front, but nowhere was it more impressed on me than in this particular area. Between Cormons and Brazzano, at a place called Subida, is a veritable masterpiece of military engineering work.
It consists of a vast series of elaborately constructed covered-in armoured trenches with protective wire entanglements, and would shelter several army corps at a pinch, though fortunately there has not been the slightest fear of their being requisitioned, and all the time and expense expended on them will, it is to be hoped, have been precautionary measures.
In years to come these miles of covered-in trenches will doubtless prove of intense interest to the military student, and though they may not present the picturesque aspect of a Vauban fortification, they are certainly none the less impressive.
It is certain they will long remain as evidence of the determination and method with which Italy took her part in the great war.
All this, though only a side issue, serves further to convince you that in carrying out her part of the operations, she has undertaken everything in a thoroughly well-considered and skilful manner that cannot fail to have a very cogent bearing on the ultimate issue of the Allied policy of co-ordinated strategy.
Before continuing on our journey we were received most hospitably by the Divisional General.
In the garden of a fine old house, which he was using as his headquarters, an al fresco, stand-up goûter awaited us.
Tables had been placed under the trees on the lawn, and there were piles of dainty sandwiches, cakes and fruit, together with wines and tea, and coffee, cigars and cigarettes, all very acceptable considering how early we had started out.
Amongst the group of officers with the General was Lieutenant Nathan, the wonderfully popular ex-Mayor of Rome. I had heard so much of him that I seized the opportunity of introducing myself, and found him a very cheery and sympathetic personality, speaking English as fluently as a Cockney—so well, in fact, that it seemed strange to see him in the uniform of an Italian officer.
On one of the worst portions we passed a gang of peasant women carrying barbed wire up to the trenches ([see page 118])
To face page 136
From Cormons we proceeded to Caporetto via Tolmino, and thence through the valley of the Isonzo, a desolate mountainous region, which had been the scene of desperate fighting in the early weeks of the war. Now it was relatively calm, and only once and again was the silence of nature disturbed by the reverberation of a big gun in the distance.
The long-prepared defensive positions of the Austrians, of which one has heard so much, availed them naught against the strategy of Cadorna and the daring of his troops. One by one they were captured, and by attacking them from the very side where attack was least expected.
The principal explanation of the victorious advance of the Italians was undoubtedly that it was made from a direction where it was not looked for and which, therefore, quite upset the plans of the Austrian General.
Only the most reliable and enthusiastic of soldiers could have been asked for so determined an effort and such sacrifices as the advance in this region was bound to entail under any conditions, but without wavering it was undertaken and eagerly at that.
It was perhaps to a certain extent but a repetition of the tactics in the mountain warfare all along the Front, but it was so glorious that no excuse is necessary for again dilating upon it.
Through a pathless wilderness of shrub or bare precipitous rocks the men made their way forward unhesitatingly, cutting a roadway as they advanced, dragging the heavy artillery with them and consolidating each yard behind them with barbed-wire entanglement and trench work in case the apparent weakness of the Austrian was but a ruse.
But there was no ruse, and nothing arrested the delirious rush of the Italians at the commencement of hostilities along the left bank of the Isonzo.
It was like an avalanche in its irresistibility, and the Austrians were completely non-plussed by such unusual military evolutions, with the result that three of their most important positions on the Front—Monte Nero, Tolmino and Plava—were already in the hands of the Italians before it was realised how important was the movement in this direction.
The heroic feat of the capture of Monte Nero by the Alpini in the month of June I have already described. In spite of every endeavour to re-take it, the Austrians had not made a yard of progress since then, except in a retrograde direction.
The Italians had immediately fortified every position they had gained, and the chances of the enemy ever recapturing them were practically nil.
Our road passed by the scene of many heroic exploits. As we motored through the frowning ravine along a winding road which skirted the swiftly-flowing Isonzo, between Tolmino and Caporetto the mighty limestone cliffs of Monte Nero gradually came into view, its towering bulk illumined by the rays of the afternoon sun.
Unconsciously one’s thoughts reverted to the events of the early days of the war, and you endeavoured to picture to yourself what had taken place hereabouts, the onward rush of the Italian troops, undeterred by the most terrible obstacles nature opposed to them, fording or swimming the treacherous river by night and scaling the heights on the opposite bank, and all this in the face of the Austrian fire.
You had an involuntary shudder as you gazed up at these gaunt rocks, where now an almost death-like silence reigned. You felt it must require the fanatic courage of a Dervish and to be cast in different mould to every-day mortals to have accomplished such exploits.
The road we were following was particularly interesting, inasmuch as it was in the immediate rear of the fighting line the whole way, and we were therefore, right in the midst of every description of military traffic and movement all the time.
It was quite remarkable considering this how little there was in the shape of incident to record, or for the matter of that, to sketch either. Everything appeared to be so perfectly organized that it worked like a big well-oiled machine. It reminded me not a little of a road in China with its endless stream of human beings.
One mountain road is very much like another, and to me on the look-out for subjects for my sketch book, there was a very great sameness everywhere, except the dust, which was worse than I have seen it anywhere, even in South Africa. It could have given points to the densest London fog and won easily. The big military motor Camions, raised such clouds of it that progress at times was almost impossible.
You could scarcely see a yard ahead, and where you knew that the roadway ended abruptly on one side, it was not altogether pleasant to reflect that your safety depended solely on the skill or luck of your chauffeur— a speck of grit in his eye, a momentary lapse of “nerve,” and you might find yourself in “Kingdom Come.” In fact, it always struck me that the risk you ran from shell-fire was infinitesimal as compared with that of motoring on these mountain roads.
We were only permitted to go a little way beyond Caporetto, the General having given instructions that he did not desire any motor traffic further along the road as it might interfere with his “arrangements.”
As we were quite exposed to the Austrian batteries this appeared reasonable enough, so, accompanied by a very amiable and learned Staff Officer as guide we ascended a hill close by from which we were able to gain some idea of what was going on.
Facing us were being carried out the most important strategic operations on the whole of the Italian Front.
We were looking up the valley of the Isonzo River, here somewhat narrowed; the stream, from the height where we were standing, looking like a dark blue ribbon laid across white gravel.
Precipitous mountains rose abruptly from either side of the valley, and towering above all was Monte Rombon, 10,000 feet high, at the very summit of which the Austrians had their most strongly fortified position in the Front.
This position was the key of the Austrian defences in the sector, and to capture it the Italians, at the time of our visit, were putting out every effort.
It was already completely invested, and the Italians were bombarding it with heavy artillery, placed on Mount Svinjak opposite.
We could see the shells bursting high up on the precipitous slopes of the mountain. The report of the guns echoed and re-echoed grandly, but the tiny puffs of smoke looked ridiculously insignificant in comparison to the volume of sound.
The difficulty for the Italian artillery was, we learned, to locate the emplacement of the Austrian guns, as they were hidden in caves and all manner of unwonted places on the mountain side. Still, they were gradually being discovered and silenced, and at any moment the Alpini might be called upon to try and repeat their previous deeds of valour by scaling the mountain and capturing the position à l’arme blanche. Meanwhile the artillery duel between Rombon and Svinjak proceeded without intermission.
At the foot of the mountains, in the valley on the right bank of the Isonzo, at its junction with the Koritnica, one could just distinguish the first house of the town of Plezzo and its fortress. Through one’s glasses you saw that little but ruins now remained of what had been one of the most picturesque and prosperous towns in the Carniola.
Plezzo was now but a sort of “no man’s land,” and though practically in the possession of the Italians, was for the moment uninhabitable, being directly under the fire of the guns of Monte Rombon. The Austrians, with their customary “kultured” amenity were continually bombarding it in order to prevent the Italians from installing themselves there, with the result that the town was slowly but surely being wiped out of existence.
As a matter of fact, at that time it would have been impossible for the Italians to have attempted, except at very heavy and needless sacrifices of life, any thing but a “Moral” occupation of Plezzo, as although the Austrians had evacuated the town they were very strongly fortified and entrenched on several of the surrounding eminences.
The whole situation here at the moment, however, was, so far as one could gather, dependent on the success of operations being carried out in the direction of Tolmino. So that it could be safely left to work itself out here, and there appeared to be no doubt whatever from what we learned that everything was developing as satisfactorily as possible. We then returned to Udine via Savogna and Cividale.
Another excursion we made to Gradisca was also particularly interesting, and very exciting as well.
Gradisca, at that time, had only recently been abandoned by the Austrians, and a somewhat similar state of affairs existed there as in Plezzo. That is, it was continually under fire from the Austrian batteries on the Carso, and many houses had already been destroyed. There was, however, this difference, that there were soldiers in the town, not many, perhaps, but sufficient for it to be considered “occupied.”
It is only a short run of about 30 kilometres from Udine. En route we drove through Palmanova, a delightful old semi-French town, dating from the time of Napoleon I, and which reminded me a little of Vitry-le-Francois. Its star-shaped setting of old ramparts with moat and drawbridge and archways entrance, with big doors, presented a strange contrast to the up-to-date military traffic passing through.
A little beyond Palmanova, at a village named Romans, we were informed that all the cars could not be allowed to go to Gradisca, which was some three kilometres further on, as the road was under fire, and a procession of half-a-dozen vehicles would attract still more attention from the Austrian batteries.
It was proposed, therefore, that we should all squeeze into two of the biggest cars and make a dash along the road, with an interval of twenty minutes between us. It was an uncomfortably tight fit, as may be imagined, and we were packed like sardines. The car I was in, a very high-powered one, surely did those three kilometres in record time. I never motored at such a speed before.
As we neared Gradisca the shells began bursting with unpleasant frequency in the fields, quite close to the road, and I feel sure that everyone experienced a sense of relief when we reached the shelter presented by the first house.
The town, which was not very much damaged, was typically Austrian, and in the bright sunshine looked a very pretty and quaint little place. There was a nice park with fine old trees, and in the centre was a bandstand, so it was evidently a pleasant place in pre-war time, but now it was absolutely deserted, and the streets presented a very forlorn and ghostly appearance, which was heightened by the fact of all the shutters of the houses being closed and grass growing in the roadways everywhere.
There were Italian batteries on the hills just outside, and they were firing continuously and with a regularity which almost savoured of clockwork. The Austrians were only replying in a desultory manner.
The report of the guns, and the shriek of the projectiles passing overhead, echoed through the empty streets with weird effect. It is difficult to describe the uncanny feeling all this produced on one: it was as though you were walking in a dream, but the reality of it all was soon brought home to you when a shell burst amongst the houses.
An officer conducted us into the centre of the town, through an archway and up to the first floor of an old building. Here a large room, with three windows, was used as a sort of observatory-post, as it directly faced the Austrian lines about fifteen hundred yards away on M. St. Michael.
The sashes of the windows had been removed, and big panels of sheet iron, painted black, were propped up in front of the openings, so that one could get a sideways glimpse outside without exposing one’s self to view.
The room was bare of furniture, with the exception of some armchairs, placed where one could sit comfortably and observe at one’s ease what was going on. There would have been almost a touch of the theatrical in it all had it not been for the occasional ping of bullets striking the iron screens.
One got a remarkable view of this much talked about corner of the Carso, for the possession of which the Italians were staking so much.
We saw the shells bursting with mechanical precision, and in endless succession, along the summit, which was being gradually pounded to bits.
Through your binoculars you searched in vain for some sign of life or man’s handiwork on the desolate ridge, and it was difficult to realize the importance attached to it. Yet it was certain that the enemy was concealed there, and in great strength otherwise this incessant and methodical bombardment would not have been deemed necessary.
We had a bit of a stroll round on our way back to the car, and found that, considering the town was midway between the Italian and Austrian batteries, remarkably little damage had been done. What struck me as particularly interesting was that many of the heavy calibre Austrian shells had failed to explode.
There was a huge one I was shown that had wrecked a small house simply by its weight alone. It was lying on the ground amongst a heap of débris, quite unimpaired except for a few small scratches. If it had exploded it would probably have destroyed half the side of the street. One had heard so many rumours of the deterioration in the quality of the Austrian projectiles that you wondered whether this was a proof of it.
The visit to Gradisca practically concluded our tour of the fighting Fronts. We made another excursion to Cervignano Aquileia and Grado, but this was practically outside the range of military operations, so it was more in the nature of a pleasure trip than anything else. Still it helped to convey a good idea of what had already been accomplished in the conquered area.
Cervignano, a rather large and important town, was full of troops, but I learned that these were only “resting” there after a long spell of the trenches.
It looked a very pleasant place to “rest” in, and, judging from the cheery looks of the men, they thoroughly appreciated the change, though it was not always peace and quietude even here, as Austrian aircraft had a nasty habit of paying unexpected visits every now and then, I was told. Several women and children had already been killed by aeroplane bombs and a few houses damaged.
Aquileia, the ancient capital of Venetia, was only interesting from an archæological point of view, as it presented no military features.
A learned officer showed us over the museum and the fine church, with its Roman pavement, and both were, doubtless, interesting and instructive from a student point of view, mais ce n’était pas la guerre. I loathe sightseeing, but I suppose it would have been sacrilege if we had missed seeing them since we were there.
From Aquilei we had a pleasant motor run through a peaceful countryside to Belvedere, a tiny “port” at the head of the Adriatic, where we embarked on a Government launch for Grado, which is situated on an island a couple of miles away.
There was not a sign of warfare here. It was a little seaside town, which reminded somewhat of Blankenbergh, but the place was well worth seeing, as it has been called the Austrian Ostend, and the Casino was its principal attraction during the season.
Of course all the hotels and the bathing establishments were closed, but we were able to get an excellent fish luncheon at a café facing the quay.
The town was continually being subjected to bombardment by Austrian seaplanes operating from Trieste, some twenty miles distant.
Many people, chiefly women and children, had been killed and a number of houses destroyed. Energetic measures were being adopted for the defence of the town, and whilst we were there a seaplane, with Beaumont, the famous French airman as passenger, arrived from Venice.
Our excursion to Grado concluded the official tour of the Front, and much to the regret of us all, we had to make our preparations for leaving the war zone; three days were given us to complete any work we might have in hand and get it passed by the Censor.
It is almost needless to add that every effort was made by us to obtain permission to remain for a time, if only in Udine, but in vain—for reasons best known to those in authority, no further publicity was desired for the moment.
With the conclusion, therefore, of the correspondents’ tour along the Front, the veil of secrecy was once more drawn over the operations, and was not to be lifted again except for the issue of the brief “Official” communiqués till such time as it might be decided to allow representatives of the Press to return to the war zone.
That the tour had been a great success was incontrovertible. The good fellowship shown to the foreign correspondents everywhere was quite one of its most memorable features, and one was continually experiencing it in some form or other.
Although perhaps, in consequence of the operations being in a state of preparation only, we had not seen so much of active warfare as we should have wished; what we had seen had opened our eyes to the resource and courage of the Italian officers and soldiers and the marvellous organization of the Army.
The progress that was being made in every part of the Front was, in my opinion, convincing proof that Italy’s share in the Allied operations is likely to be a very important factor in every phase of the conflict, and subsequent events have strengthened my conviction.