CHAPTER XV
The commencement of the battle for Gorizia—We approach scene of action—Sheltered road—Curious “Chinese” effect—Headquarters of the 6th Corps d’Armée—Cottage of British Red Cross—Our cordial reception by General Capello—A glorious coup d’oeil—Wonderful spectacle—The Socialist Minister Leonida Bissolati—More good news received—The scene before us—Explanation of word “Monte”—Continuous line of bursting shells—Country in a state of irruption—No indication of life anywhere—Not a sign of troops—My motor goggles—Curious incidents—“Progress everywhere”—Colonel Clericetti announces good news—Capture of Gorizia bridge-head—Excited group of correspondents and officers—Arrange start at once with two confrères for fighting Front—Our plan—The thunder of the guns—The rearguard of advancing army—Our pace slackened—Miles and miles of troops—Wonderful spectacle of war—Mossa—Go on to Valisella—Machine guns and rifle fire—Ghastly radiance—General Marazzi’s Headquarters—Not allowed proceed further—Decide make for Vipulzano—Arrive close on 10 o’clock—Bit late to pay visit—General invites us to dinner—Large party of officers—Memorable dinner—Atmosphere of exultation—News Austrians retreating everywhere—Thousands more prisoners—Dawn of day of victory—I propose a toast—On the terrace after dinner—Battle in full progress—Awe-inspiring spectacle—Little lights, like Will-o’-the-Wisps—Amazing explanation—Methodical precision of it all—Austrian fire decreasing gradually—Time to think of getting back to Udine and bed.
CHAPTER XV
As we got nearer the scene of action it was as though we were approaching a thunderstorm; the roar of the guns was absolutely continuous.
The road now began to present a very curious appearance. For several miles it was bordered on either side with high screens of straw matting hung from poles, and wide strips of the same material were hung across the centre; the object of this being to hide movements of troops and convoys from the view of the Austrian gunners or the prying eyes of airmen.
Quite a “Chinese” effect was produced by this curious screening of the road. These “postiches,” as I believe they are called, have long been used on the Western Front, but it was the first time I had seen them here.
The sensation of driving through these “sheltered” roads was almost eerie, as you knew that any moment a shell fired at random might come through the matting, as it was all in full view of the Austrian batteries.
This, in fact, not infrequently happens, I was told, when the artillery is particularly active. The idea of the enemy evidently being to attempt to create a feeling of insecurity and check the va et vient along the road, but in this they have not succeeded, as the roads are used as freely as ever.
In other places the screens and traverses were made of brushwood, which appeared to me to be perhaps more effective, as they were not so visible at a distance as the square patches of yellow matting.
The headquarters of General Capello, the commander of the 6th Corps d’armée, were in a large and picturesque house standing in its own grounds on a slight acclivity off the road, and about as near to the operations as one could get that day; in fact, a battery was stationed in a vineyard within a hundred yards of the building, and was firing with clockwork regularity the whole time we were up there, whilst the Austrian shells in reply were bursting much too near to us to be pleasant.
A cottage on the opposite side of the road had been taken by the British Red Cross Society, and fixed up as an emergency station. One of their big ambulance waggons, with an English chauffeur in khaki, was waiting outside.
The General received us with marked cordiality, and readily gave his permission for us to go wherever we chose in the vicinity, but there was no need to go far, for, as it turned out, one could not have hit on a spot better situated for getting a panoramic view of the battlefield.
There was a broad terrace at the back of the house, from which one obtained a glorious coup d’oeil of the whole area from Monte Sabottina to the Carso, and here we found a group of staff officers keenly watching the wonderful spectacle with the aid of a powerful telescope on a tripod.
There were two civilians amongst them who looked strangely out of keeping with the martial surroundings. One of these, an elderly man, was the famous Socialist Deputy, now a Cabinet Minister, Leonida Bissolati, who was making a tour of the Front, accompanied by his private secretary, Cavaliere Eusebio Allamandola. There was also another Deputy present, Signor Arci, but he was in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant of artillery.
Everyone was very elated, as well they might have been considering the way things were shaping for the Italians, the General telling us that further good news had been received that morning and that still more prisoners had been taken.
So far as one could judge the action was still in the nature of a colossal artillery duel, but the scene before us was so vast that it took some little time to grasp the full import of what was taking place. I will depict it roughly in order to convey some idea of our position.
On our left was Monte Sabottina. In front of us was Monte San Gabriele. The richly wooded undulating plain of Friuli, dotted with villages, stretched away from below the terrace.
In the distance, a couple of miles or so away, was the Podgora Ridge, bristling with gaunt tree-stumps; beyond it you could just distinguish the houses of Gorizia. To the right was the Carso and Monte San Michele, some five miles away.
It may be mentioned here that the word “Monte” in Italian does not necessarily signify a “mountain” as it is understood in English. The Italian “Monte” is a very elastic term, and, according to the dictionary, may mean a mountain, a hill, or a heap. Monte San Michele in the Carso, for example, is an ant-heap as compared with, say, Monte Cristallo in the Alps, but they are both referred to as “Monte.”
I mention this because so many people I have met speak of the Carso and the lower Isonzo round Gorizia as a mountainous region, whereas the elevations there are merely in the nature of “foothills.”
However, to revert to the spectacle we had before us at Vipulzano.
From Monte San Gabriele to Monte San Michele, a distance of, roughly, nine miles, was one continuous line of bursting shells of every calibre; it never ceased for a moment, and this we were told had been going on without a lull for forty-eight hours.
The whole country appeared to be in a state of irruption, and columns or smoke of various colours and fantastic shapes were to be seen rising everywhere like embryo volcanoes.
All this, combined with the incessant thunder of the guns near and far, and the crash of the explosions, was positively blood-curdling.
Meanwhile the Austrian artillery was returning shell for shell apparently, and the Italians were not having it all their own way, though, as it turned out, the Austrian defensive had no backbone to it, and its weakness was becoming more and more evident as time went on.
Seen through the telescope, the desolation of the countryside was revealed in all its horrors. At a first glance it was a rich and smiling landscape bathed in the glorious sunshine of an Italian summer morning, but one soon discovered that the white houses of the villages were now but heaps of ruins.
There was no indication of life in them anywhere—the God of war reigned supreme.
Along the roads there was not a sign of troops nor of any military activity, yet hidden in the dense woods, we were told, masses of troops were concealed waiting the signal to advance as soon as the artillery had finished its work.
I was making a sketch when a shell burst somewhat nearer to the terrace than was agreeable, and shortly after came another.
To my surprise then an officer hurried across to us and said, in French, that the General would feel very much obliged if I would sit in a less exposed position, as the sun was catching the glass of the motor goggles I was carrying on my cap, and was attracting the attention of an Austrian battery opposite.
And day by day one heard of minor successes in Trentino ([see page 188])
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I did not require to be asked twice; one well-aimed shell of the calibre they were using would, I knew, have made short work of the Headquarter chateau.
There is a certain monotony in watching an artillery duel, and as it was quite uncertain how long this one would last, my companions, after we had been there about a couple of hours, decided that the best thing to do was to return to Udine to get off their “copy,” and as I had some sketches I wanted to work up this suited me also.
“Progress everywhere” was reported the following morning, and there was an air of suppressed excitement in the town. Everyone seemed to have the idea that we were on the eve of important events. And so it turned out.
About four o’clock in the afternoon I went to the Censorship to have tea, and on the stairs I met Colonel Clericetti; he was positively beaming with joy. “Have you heard the news?” he exclaimed in English and wringing me effusively by the hand (for two pins I think he would have embraced me!)
“We have captured the Gorizia bridgehead, and it is rumoured that at any moment the troops may get into Gorizia itself.”
This was indeed wonderful tidings, and I felt I must be off again at once if possible to get some sketches. In the Press-room there was an excited group of correspondents and officers discussing the victory.
My confrères with whom I had made the excursion the previous day were not there for the moment, so in order not to lose time, I looked round for someone else who might have a vacant seat in his car, and was not only lucky enough to find one, but also with two men who were starting immediately.
I hastened back to my lodgings to put together a few things in my rucksack, as one could not tell how long we might be away or what might happen.
The news was spreading like wildfire through the town. On the place Vittorio Emanuele, a crowd was beginning to gather; on all sides one heard the name of Gorizia.
In the main street the inhabitants were already preparing to put up flags. It was like the sun coming out after a storm; an air of relief after the tension of so many long months was discernible on every face.
Owing to some trouble with the car and my companions being delayed by telegrams they had to send, it was getting towards evening by the time we got away, but we found the road was pretty free to start with; so we made up for lost time by dashing along at top speed.
My car mates were Rino Allessi, of the Secolo, of Milan, and Giovanni Miceli, of the Prensa, of Buenos Ayres also an Italian correspondent, but for the nonce representing this South American paper.
Both of them spoke French and were jolly good fellows, though for the matter of that, all the Italian correspondents up at Udine were charming, and one could not have come across a more genial and good-natured group of men anywhere.
Our plan was, of course, to get as near the fighting as possible, and with this idea we were making for Mossa, which is about a mile and a half from the Gorizia bridgehead, and where we had been informed we should find the Headquarters of General Marazzi, the Divisional Commander, from whom we hoped to get permission to go on further.
When we had passed Cormons the thunder of the guns, which we had heard all the way, appeared to increase in intensity till it resembled a continuous roll of thunder, and always getting nearer.
The road now began to be congested, clouds of dust told us we had caught up with the rearguard of the advancing army, and our speed had to be slackened considerably. In places, in fact, we were hung up altogether, but it was no use worrying about it; our pace was being regulated, we found, by a monster gun just ahead, drawn by a traction engine.
There seemed to be miles and miles of troops, infantry, cavalry, and artillery.
The sun was setting, and in the waning light the interminable column presented a spectacle of war that I shall never forget.
We were challenged by a patrol just before we got to Mossa, but had no trouble whatever, as our passes were quite in order.
We learned that the Divisional Headquarters were at Valisella, quite close by, but away from the main road, so we made our way there. To get away from the dust for a little while was indeed a relief; we had been almost choked with it, and looked like millers.
It was now almost dusk, and we were so close to the fighting that we could hear the machine guns and rifle fire in between the reports of the guns.
Every now and again what appeared to be fireworks lit up the scene with ghostly radiance.
At the General’s quarters, which were in a fine old house, the courtyard was crowded with officers and motor cyclists. Someone came and asked our business. We explained our object in coming, so he took in our cards and we waited outside for his reply.
After being kept waiting some little time, a staff officer, accompanied by an orderly carrying a lantern, came up from some underground part of the building.
He told us briefly that the General said it was impossible to allow us to proceed any further. Moreover, the road was quite blocked with troops a little further on, the bridge had been destroyed, and fighting was still proceeding.
There was no arguing the matter—that would not have helped us—so we got back into the car glum with disappointment. We motored slowly for some distance, whilst my companions were examining the map with the aid of a lighted match, and discussing what was best to be done, as we did not feel inclined to return to Udine yet.
Then suddenly it occurred to them to make for Vipulzano and see if General Capello, whom one of them knew, would help us.
It was only a run of about four miles, but it was across country and away from the troops, so it was a bit difficult to find our way in the dark; but we managed after some delays to get there somehow, though it was close on ten o’clock when we arrived. It struck me as rather a coincidence my returning at such an hour to the place I had left only the day before.
Not a light was to be seen in the house, and had it not been for the soldiers on sentry duty outside one might have thought it was uninhabited.
It was a bit late to pay a visit, but we had come so far that we decided to risk it, and groped our way up through the garden to the front door. There we found an orderly, who took our cards in.
It was pitch dark where we stood in the shadow of the house, but the sky was illumined every now and then by fitful flashes of light from the battlefield. The thunder of the guns was still as terrific here as on the previous day, but you could not fail to note that the firing was now of greater volume from the Italian side.
We were not kept waiting long. The orderly returned, accompanied by an officer.
The General, he told us, was only just sitting down to dinner, and would be very pleased if we would join him.
Of course there was no refusing, though we felt a bit diffident as we were white with dust. However, à la guerre, comme à la guerre, so we followed the officer in.
The contrast between the darkness and gloom outside and the brightness within was startling: a corridor led into a large central hall, such as one sees in big country houses in England. This was evidently used as a staff-office, and was lighted by several shaded lamps, which gave it quite a luxurious appearance. The dining room was off the hall.
There was a large party at dinner, amongst whom Signor Bissolati and several of the officers I had met the previous day.
Everyone appeared unfeignedly pleased to see us, and the General, doubtless out of compliment to me as an Englishman, seated me next to him. That dinner party will long live in my memory.
It is difficult to describe the atmosphere of exultation that pervaded the room; it positively sent a thrill through you. As may be imagined, everyone was in the highest spirits.
We learned that the latest news was that the Austrians were retreating everywhere, that thousands more prisoners had already been taken, and that the troops were only waiting for daylight to make the final dash for Gorizia.
The day of victory so long waited for was soon to dawn. The incessant thunder of the guns now sounded like music, for it was mainly that of Italian guns now, and we knew they were moving forward all the time towards the goal.
I am usually painfully nervous when I attempt to make a speech, however short, but this was an occasion when nervousness was impossible, so I got up, and raising my glass towards the General, asked to be permitted to drink to the Glory of the Italian Army! Needless to add, that the toast was received with a chorus of applause.
The dinner consisted of five courses, and was excellent; in fact, the chef must have tried to surpass himself in honour of the victory.
The conversation was almost entirely confined to war subjects, and I was surprised to find how well-informed my neighbours were in regard to England’s great effort. I could not help thinking how very few English officers could tell you as much about Italy’s part in the war.
After dinner we all went out on to the terrace, and the sight that met our eyes beggars description.
It was now past eleven o’clock, but the battle was still raging furiously from San Floriano to the Carso. From end to end of the line the crests of the hills were illuminated by the lightning-like flashes of exploding shells, and the rays of powerful searchlights.
The still night air seemed as though to vibrate with the continuous crash of field-pieces. Every now and again “Bengal lights” and “Star shells” rose in the sky like phantom fireworks, and shed a weird blue light around.
We stood for some time in wrapt silence, spellbound by the awe-inspiring spectacle, for it was certain that nothing living could exist in that inferno on the hills.
The wooded plain below the terrace had the appearance of a vast black chasm from where we stood. It was studded curiously here and there with little lights like Will-o’-the-Wisps that were moving forward in unison.
From what I had seen for myself the previous day I knew that the whole countryside was uninhabited, so I asked an artillery officer standing by me if he could let me know what they were.
To my amazement he told me that they were the guiding lanterns of Italian batteries advancing—to enable the officers to keep touch and alignment in the darkness.
There were, he added with dramatic impressiveness, at that moment over six hundred guns converging on the Austrian positions.
The methodical precision of it all was simply marvellous; even here, not even the smallest detail of organization had been left to chance.
Meanwhile the Austrian fire was noticeably decreasing, till at last the crash of the guns came from the Italian batteries only; the “Bengal lights” and “Star shells” were less frequent, and only one solitary searchlight remained.
We had seen probably all there was to see that night, and it was about time to think of getting back to Udine for a few hours sleep, if we were to return to see the big operations in the early morning, so we made our way back to the house to take our leave and fetch our coats.
In the corridor an orderly asked us courteously to make as little noise as possible, the General having gone to bed. We looked at our watches: it was getting on for one o’clock, and we had a thirty mile drive before us.