From Komiža, the next morning, we steamed over on the destroyer to the wonderful blue grotto of Biševo (or Busi), which surpasses Capri. An Austrian Archduke, we were told, had once waited a week at Komiža, but had been compelled to leave without seeing the cave. We were more fortunate—the wind, the water and the sun were kind to us; we entered in a rowing-boat the little pearl-grey Gothic chapel which Nature has constructed underneath a hill, and as we gazed into the blue-green waters, through which from the rocks below a fountain of most brilliant blue was rising, every time an oar was dipped the waters painted it a silvery white. The population of Biševo consists of about 150 people, who mostly live around the little church of Saint Sylvester, two hundred feet above the sea. They occupy themselves with sheep and fruit and bees and fish, and with the vines that are even more famous than those of Vis. A good part of the population had assembled on a grassy platform high above the entrance to the cave, and as we climbed out of the rowing-boat on to the destroyer a much larger rowing-boat came round a promontory. Sixteen women formed the crew. They sang their national Croatian songs, and when they approached us some of them stood up and, while the wind played with their straw-coloured and golden hair, they laughingly threw flowers at us. As we left Biševo the men and women high above us and the women in the boat were waving their hands; some of them were singing, others were shouting a farewell. Here and there on the sunlit waters, rising and falling, were the flowers which had woven on the sea a gorgeous carpet. "Well," said the lieutenant-commander, "I admit that this is a Yugoslav island."
I forget whether Signor Buonfiglio made any remark, but a few hours later at Velaluka he was most incensed. As our boat—we had returned to the old Porer at Komiža—sailed into the harbour a huge Yugoslav flag was flying from the summit of a hill, with French, British and American flags around it. The destroyer had arrived before us and the burly journalist was striding up and down the quay. "I protest," he exclaimed, as he saw us, "and not as a journalist but as an Italian citizen! I protest!" Between us and the front row of houses, which included the town-major's office, there was a large empty space—the inhabitants could be descried up the side-streets and behind the windows. De Michaelis, the town-major, was evidently a superior young man; as he poured out the champagne he told us with perfect frankness that the educated people at Velaluka were Yugoslavs. Suddenly there was a terrific noise just underneath us. We hurried downstairs and found that the soldiers in their excitement had fired off a machine gun into the wall. Half an hour later the firing could be heard from the top of the hill, but we never ascertained whether anyone was wounded. In this place the Italianist party sent to us an ex-publican who had now joined the police, a small trader and a municipal clerk who had recently been imported from Zadar. The Yugoslavs were a large landowner, a doctor and a priest, who told us that the people for the most part were refusing to accept gratuitous food from the Italians.
ON THE WAY TO BLATO
We were anxious to visit Blato, an inland village of 8000 inhabitants. De Michaelis regretted very much that he had no carriage, but a Yugoslav had a quaint little car on which he was learning how to drive and he was kind enough to take us—for which he was afterwards deported to Italy. The good man made so much noise in changing his gears that our progress was advertised in the uttermost fields, and very few of those who bore down upon us came unprovided with flowers. Several of the bouquets hit Pommerol or myself in the eye, and the Dutch say that the best cause has need of a good pleader. But the people were so gay, waving their hats and running after us (they did not always have to run) and shouting for the various Allies and for President Wilson. I remember two small round-eyed boys who were not old enough to run; they were standing hand in hand by the side of the road, panting the magic word "Wilson! Wilson! Wilson!" There was a sudden contrast when we jerked into the village. People were not rushing towards us, but away from us—with furious carabinieri behind them. We got into the garden in front of the gendarmerie; one of the men was so enraged that he kept on muttering "Bestia! Bestia! Bestia!" In the Commandant's office we met Major Federico Verdinois, the town-major, who said that if he had only known of our coming this wretched scuffle would not have happened. Even as he spoke it started again; we leaned out of the window and saw two or three persons who were being prevented by soldiers from going down the street or from going anywhere. An officer was slashing with a riding-whip at a soldier who was particularly rough. "One can do nothing with the marines; they are brutal," said Major Verdinois. At last there was peace, and the major said that an Italian deputation would come to see us. It consisted of six individuals. The Austro-Hungarian census of 1910 said that the Blato district contained 13,147 Serbo-Croats, 3 Germans and 6 Italians; but these six were not all in the deputation, for two of its members had come from Hvar, one from Zadar, two were ex-Austrian spies and one was a Yugoslav, who hoped in this way to help his people. One gentleman deplored that he had not been told about our journey; had he known he would have told his peasants to appear. Another gentleman assured us that the peasants were afraid of declaring their real wishes. Of course a country whose friends call it the most liberal in the world could not allow such a state of things to continue, and a short time after this the following Order was issued by the staff of the 66th Division of Infantry:
No. 46. Confidential— Very Urgent.
Personal. June 23, 1919.
To the Commanders at Benkovac, Obrovac,
Novigrad, Ervenik, Kistanje, Skradin,
Biograd, Nin, Gjeverske, Sukošan And
Karin.
To the Command of the Royal Divisions.
It is necessary to bring about, with no delay and very discreetly, the dispatch of messages to the Prime Minister Nitti and to the Minister of Foreign Affairs Tittoni from the mayor, from societies, etc., of this garrison, expressing the people's keen desire to be annexed to Italy.
A copy of said telegram should be transmitted to me.
| The Major: Foresi. | The Major-General: Squillace. |