It was June 14th. Time 11:30 P.M.: the night was serene; great peace reigned over the hills and mountains; no sound reached us. From afar off in the direction of Capella the feeble voice of a piano brought us the echoes of a Viennese waltz. All this calm surprised and frightened me for I knew what was preparing beneath the calm exterior. That evening I had received a note from Brunora on which were written the sole words, “until to-morrow.”

I asked myself with anxiety and incredible emotion what would happen when the fatal struggle began. I was not kept waiting long, for suddenly, as if a diabolical orchestra had been let loose, a thousand sounds spread through the mountain repeated by the echoes in the valleys. The 286 din increased, traveled, stopped at times and then recommenced; it seemed as if a giant machine-gun were winding off shots from a long ribbon. The voices of the cannon of different caliber followed without interruption in their clamor. The piercing shrieks from the meadows were at intervals drowned by the round rumblings of the medium calibers followed by the hideous roars from the firing mouths of large caliber. The bombardment seemed to be on the side of the mountain, but lighter in the region of the Montello and again became intensive in the region towards the sea. I could not keep still, I was restless and ran madly to the top of the hill, towards the spot I had selected as my observation post. The entire plain beneath me was in flames, the line of the Piave was easily recognizable, even at night, from the shooting stars incessantly ascending; it seemed as if a wonderful forest of resplendent flowers was rising and far off on the horizon was blossoming 287 in a metamorphosis of light. The white, red, and green intermingled in a golden rain. The region before the Piave was continually broken by the enemy’s flashes and in answer came shelling from our artillery grouped on the slope of the Montello. The flare of the gun discharges seemed, in the diffused light, like the leaping flash of magnesium light illumining at intervals a certain region. A shell of large caliber struck not far from us in the direction of Carpesica; our soldiers could not have been taken by surprise, they answered, they regulated their fire, they prevented the masses of the enemy from flooding the roads which lead to the front. My signals had been significant; they must have understood....

All night I anxiously kept watch on the hill; all night I tried to discern from the noise of the bombardment some indication of the outcome of the battle. Bottecchia was near me and about us there were 288 grouped several peasants and a few women who were praying for the boys fighting on the other side, and above the deafening rumble of the battle the feeble mumbling of their litanies at times reached my ears. Day was about to dawn and from all the aviation camps aeroplanes rose in uninterrupted flight directed towards the front. Who knew how terrible the conflict in the air would be and how many of our adversaries would fall under our straight shooting! I wished to move, to run, to participate in some way in the action, instead I was compelled to stay immobile, I was detained far from the struggle in which the fate of my country was being decided, and I, who had never missed an offensive since the first day of the war, felt as if I had abandoned my post, as if I had deserted because in this moment I was not, as usual, where the fray was thickest, the action most heated and deadly.

It was seven in the morning, the hour in 289 which the infantry was scheduled to advance. The bombardment from the big-caliber guns had lessened and naught but the piercing shriek of field pieces from the meadows was heard. At times, wafted by the wind, I knew not if it were real or imagined, I seemed to hear the light rattle of the machine-guns. A thick fog spread over the Piave and it seemed as if the entire line had been suddenly submerged. It appeared to be the effect of the smoke projectiles intended to hide from our men the places in which the enemy was building bridges. Suddenly someone broke through the little group of people surrounding me. A priest in a long black robe and with something hidden under his shirt asked anxiously where he could find the Italian officer.

“Here, I am the Italian officer.”

He took from under his tunic a small rectangular box and excitedly handed it to me. I did not thank him, but clasped his hand. Hastily I descended the hill carrying 290 the little box with me and ran to the stable to copy the documents which were hidden in the little tin box. I removed a piece of glass from the window, above it I placed a thin piece of paper and with a pencil which I found in the box I began to transcribe; I knew the code and the handwriting and soon I had filled six sheets. Bottecchia was standing on guard outside in front of the door. Now my actions were not useless, now I felt as if I had again become a combatant, now I knew that my life again had a value. We folded the little sheets in a compact roll, we pressed and tightened them to make them fit in the small tube, and fastened on the cover, being careful to place it with the colored part turned up so that during the flight the cork would not fall out and the risk be run of losing the pigeon despatch. With great precaution we took the dear bird from the cage and placing one of its legs between the index and middle finger held it curved, violet breast facing us. 291 The docile creature did not flutter, but calmly let us work. We opened the rings fastened to the tube and placed them about the leg of the pigeon, being careful not to tighten them too much lest the bird suffer, yet not too loose, lest the tube be lost. Then still holding fast to the bird, I threw a jacket over my shoulder to hide the bird, and we went out on the hill. We hid in a wheat field so that no one about could see us, and launched the gentle bird towards the sky. It ascended at once and made several turns over our heads. The rustle of its wings was cadenced and even and we followed the bird in flight for a long time with an anxious look. Again it passed over our heads in ever-widening circles and then flew directly toward our territory. Within an hour our forces would know the plan of battle. I returned to my observation post at the top of the hill.

Time, 9.30. To me the bombardment seemed to be increasing in intensity and at 292 the same time I noticed that our batteries were not answering with the same violence as formerly. Had our forces been surprised?... Had the enemy the upper hand?... The hours fled with startling rapidity. At four in the afternoon Rino, greatly fatigued, brought me a message sent from Vittorio. The message was thus constructed:

“Time, 3.30 P.M. Between the Astico and the Brenta the Austrians have conquered Val Bella Point, Col del Rosso, and Col d’Echele. The 32nd Austrian division has broken the front on Mount Asolone reaching Mount Coston and quota 1503. The 60th division has reached Mount Pertica and quota 1581. On the Solarolo salient the 55th division has been successful in the direct............