What was the most dramatic incident of the Great War? Who shall pretend to be a judge? Bravery there was in staggering and soul-inspiring array, and much more that went unmarked and unrecorded than ever has been told. Yet there is still a vast difference between the great displays of courage and some of those lesser acts which were so fraught with the elements of drama that they still grip one’s throat no matter how repeatedly they may be recalled.
Who does not recall in those tragic days of the Somme the story of how Colonel John Campbell of the Coldstream Guards, when his men were going over the top in front of Guinche Wood, mounted the breastwork, put a hunting horn to his lips and blew the familiar hunting calls, as though he were back in a silent upland glen playing on his pipes, “The Campbells Are Coming”? The notes of his horn carried out clear through that hell of noise and around the whole earth wherever men of his race were gathered. That was drama — and drama that will live as long as the Scottish chiefs still hold their romantic place in the hearts of men.
Among those who go down to the sea in ships there were so many tragic scenes set on the shifting waves that drama was never absent from their lives and bravery that can never be sung was ever their daily portion; yet what man is there among us, in whom aught of the primitive instinct of the chase still resides, who will not thrill at the thought of a single individual stalking a dreadnought?
It was from a kinsman who was in close touch with Italian affairs and conditions following the Armistice that I first heard the personal details of the story of Comandante Rizzo’s blowing up of the Austrian battleship Wien, on the night of December 9, 1917, in the harbor of Trieste.
Comandante Rizzo of the Italian Navy had been officially connected with the mission of which my kinsman was the head, and in close contact with him for several days before he succeeded in drawing from the comandante some few threads of his experiences, which led him to search out and obtain later from others a fuller account. It was the subsequent recital of this tale in my presence that stirred me to the depths and caused me to register the silent resolve that, if I ever found myself in Italy, I should do my utmost to search out this man who had gone single-handed into an enemy’s harbor and blown up the man-o’- war that had during the preceding days been bombarding the right wing of the Italian forces; for I wanted to hear from his own lips the account of his unusual feat. Imagine then my delight and surprise on finding in the little Swiss mountain village where I was spending my summer an officer of the Italian Navy who could answer my casual question about Rizzo and his David and Goliath feat by telling me that this sinking of the Wien, which was heralded and described throughout the press of the world, was only the first of three such exploits by the Italian Navy, in the second of which Rizzo was again the principal actor.
The officer who opened for me the possibility of hearing more of Comandante Rizzo’s experiences was Comandante Alberto Lais, who had been attached during the last six months of the war to the chief command in the Adriatic and who was subsequently appointed to the historical section of the staff.
What he told me during our walks in that emerald valley of the Isere, where the only reminder of war was the occasional booming of some great mass of rock as it broke away from the massif of the Dents du Midi and came tumbling down the slope, seemed to me so well worth recording that I asked his aid in gathering some of the facts regarding the other two extraordinary feats which he mentioned and which seemed not to have been published yet in full detail.
In our chats he phrased the well-recognized fact that the titanic struggle fought and won by the Allies against the German submarine so thoroughly dominates the tableau of naval activity during the war that any other feat assumes an ever-increasing secondary aspect as time passes. He volunteered the addendum that there are, however, episodes which are as yet scarcely known by the larger public and which deserve to be recounted, not only because of the interest offered by their narration but also because they are destined to hold their place in history as characteristic examples of new features of naval warfare and to exert an appreciable influence upon the tactics of future naval struggles. Comandante Lais continued:
“The Adriatic, in which these feats were performed, is a small sea, but was strategically of great importance during the war, inasmuch as it was the master key to that Mediterranean for whose control such rivers of blood have flowed throughout the centuries. Opposite us stood an enemy slightly inferior in naval force but possessing a great natural advantage of position, able to keep for long periods within his formidably defended harbors and to dash out, at the time of his own choosing, for short, speedy raids. In any resulting actions there was very little risk for him, as he could pick his own fighting conditions, and as the configuration of the Adriatic would allow him to return to his bases before any decisively disastrous results could be worked upon him.
“In such a situation the only way for us to come really into touch with the enemy was to attack him inside his military harbors, and this became the reason for the daring tactics adopted early in 1916 of violating the enemy’s bases, to which we owe a number of brilliant successes.
“The actual instruments used were very simple—small motor boats, armed with two torpedoes and manned by the smallest of picked crews. In all some 400 of these craft were constructed during the war with great variation of characteristics between the different types, inasmuch as the units in each group were specially designed for the particular purposes which they were intended to accomplish. Also a number of marine tanks were built, fitted with grappling chains by means of which they were able to climb up and over the floating booms protecting the enemy’s harbors.
“These motor boats were indicated and referred to by the letters M.A.S., out of which their crews coined the motto of Memento Audere Semper’ (‘Remember always to dare, or more freely, ‘Never miss a chance to dash in.’)
“The activities of these small craft during the war were very considerable. Every night they hounded the enemy’s coast in packs and, eluding or defying his guards, entered practically all of his harbors, even the most strongly defended ones, inflicting an aggregate of losses upon the Austrian Navy which were equal to, or even greater than, what might have been expected from a naval engagement.”
But let us turn back to the personal element, for the proper valuation of which these explanatory facts have been allowed to creep in. It was Comandante Rizzo’s single-handed attack upon the Wien that brought to him his first gold medal and a “crew” bonus based on the estimated value of the enemy ship that he had sunk.
It is again best to give Comandante Lais’s own words.
“In the early spring of 1918 the task of bottling up the Austrian fleet in the Adriatic was approaching accomplishment through the stretching across the Straits of Otranto of an explosive net, about fifty miles long and extending 200 feet below the surface. This colossal task had to be carried through in the face of the great difficulties of mooring the net in very deep soundings, some of which ran to 3,500 feet. This underwater barrier was supplemented by a floating force of eighty armed British trawlers, supported by a patrol of destroyers. Against this big objective the Austrians decided upon a grand style action, which should coincide with their army’s attempt to break the Italian front on the Piave. Omitting the general plan of the action, one feels it legitimate, however, to touch upon certain almost negligibly unimportant details in the execution of the first stages in the movement and to show what in the game of war may be the role played by mere chance.
“In the course of carrying through the proper disposition of their fleet before the action the Austrians had to transfer four of their dreadnoughts from the harbor of Pola to the South Adriatic and decided that the battleships should leave in two sections twenty-four hours apart. The first section, composed of the Viribus Unitis and the Prim Eugen and escorted by a number of torpedo craft, left Pola on June 8 at 10:30 p.m. Just a little later two Italian M.A.S.’s, supported by a flotilla of three torpedo boats and six destroyers lying farther off arrived outside the harbor to take up their night watch. Chance had favored the Austrians and continued to smile upon them the next day, when a strong wind prevented the Italian airplanes from flying over the harbor of Pola and observing that dummy ships had been towed out to take the place of the dreadnoughts at their buoys. That same evening the second section, made up of the Szent Istvan and the Tegetthof, was to leave at 9145 but was held up by an error in the orders to the personnel in charge of opening the booms and nets that protected the harbor, which caused a seemingly insignificant delay of thirty minutes. Later we shall see the importance of this minor variation in the schedule.
“While this last section of the battleships with its supporting fleet of destroyers and other torpedo craft was en route during the night toward the south, many of our naval units were on patrol duty in mid-Adriatic, where a northern line across the Dalmatian channel was being kept by the M.AS. 15 and 2i, supported at a distance by two torpedo boats. Farther to the south there was a line of destroyers and torpedo boats; and finally a string of ten submarines, five of which were French, were scattered southeast of Cattaro. Across these lines of our patrol boats the Austrian ships would have to pass.
“The M.A.S. 15, on which was Comandante Rizzo with a crew of five men, had developed engine trouble that forced anchoring and a delay of about thirty minutes in the schedule of its return toward the base at Ancona. Fate seemed to have been juggling that night with extra half-hours, for it was by this margin that she brought the enemies together.”
The stage is now sufficiently set to allow the actors to speak for themselves. In the report which Comandante Rizzo made of this unusual engagement he writes in part as follows:
“At about 3 :i5 a.m., when I was 6.5 miles from Lutostrak, I sighted a cloud of smoke off the starboard quarter and well astern. Having reason to believe that I had been noticed during my patrol by Gruiza Island sentinels, I inferred that the smoke was coming from destroyers sent from Lussin to overhaul and sink me. As dawn was already approaching, I judged that it was unsafe to try to escape, inasmuch as the best speed I could possibly make was twenty knots. Consequently, I decided to take a chance in the still uncertain light and attack. With this in mind I turned toward the enemy and proceeded at the lowest speed in order to avoid the foam which would have revealed my presence. On approaching I discovered that my first judgment had been wrong, as the convoy was composed of two large units, escorted by a protecting fleet of eight or ten torpedo boats. Having made up my mind to discharge my torpedoes at the shortest possible range, I crept straight in between the first two light craft in the line to the starboard of the two men-o’-war and, in order to run clear of the second of them, had to increase my speed from nine to twelve knots.
“I thus unexpectedly succeeded in penetrating 100 meters beyond the line of escort and fired my torpedoes at a distance of roughly 300 meters. Both struck the Szent Istvan, one directly abeam between two funnels and the other half-way between the after funnel and the stern. The ship did not maneuver to avoid the torpedoes. When they detonated, huge columns of smoke and water were raised.
“The torpedo boat on my port quarter, realizing what had happened, turned to cut me off but succeeded only in taking my wake at about 150 meters. She opened fire with one gun, whose shots were well directed but slightly long, so that the shells exploded beyond my bow. Seeing that she was keeping directly in my wake, I released a depth bomb, which did not, however, go off. Following this, I rolled off a second one, which exploded just under her bows. She immediately swung eight points to starboard, and I came hard to port, so that I quickly distanced her and was soon drawing away out of sight.”
In this plain, log-like account of his probably unequaled feat in the naval history of the world, the former captain of a trading ship omits to say that he had steamed into the nose of an approaching enemy fleet without the smallest shred of hope that he would ever escape being killed or made a prisoner, let alone bringing his craft and himself back to port with a dreadnought at his belt. What must have been his sensations as he whirred away toward the Italian coast to carry the news of the second and third enemy ships to his credit! In his face, square jawed but finely lined, one can read some of the characteristics of imagination and determination that must have guided him in his daring tasks. One turns with hesitancy to listen to the plaints of the fallen; yet it happens that of this unusual naval engagement there exists another account, much more .detailed and much more unique than that of Coman- dante Rizzo. It is none other than the report of the torpedo officer of the Szent Ist- van, Lieutenant Titz, which came later into the hands of the Italian naval authorities and which probably contains one of the most graphic descriptions of what actually occurs on a sinking man-o’-war that has been penned in recent years.
“At 2:00 a.m. on June 10 I went on watch. The captain was seated on the starboard wing of the bridge. At about 3:3c) the day began to break, though to the westward it was still dark. The captain directed me to verify the position of the torpedo boats of our escort. While I was informing him that they were all in sight and were keeping their proper stations, two sharp reports were heard to starboard, as though they came from just under and aft the bridge. At first we thought it was a fire alarm but almost immediately noticed the ship was taking a slight list to starboard and heard shouts coming up from the crew. A panic followed that lasted only a moment, after which every man was back at his post, the guns were run out and all eyes were strained upon the sea; but it was too late, and nothing was in sight.
“Telephoning below for information I received word that there was water in the after boiler room but that the forward boilers were maintaining a pressure of six atmospheres and that we could proceed at reduced speed. The captain then asked me the distance to Bargulje Bay (Melada Island) and ordered that we proceed toward it at our best possible speed. We had barely changed our course when the ship’s list reached seven degrees and report came up from below that water had entered the forward boiler compartment. This soon cut off our steam and left us without light, wireless or the use of our pumps. Moreover, the ship’s inclination was increasing at the rate of one degree every fifteen minutes. A torpedo boat was despatched to order the Tegetthof to come and take us in tow. At that moment she was about 10,000 meters away, keeping this distance to avoid the danger zone into which we had apparently run. We were still ignorant as to who had torpedoed us. Another torpedo boat was sent off to inform the station at Lussin of what had happened, while all the remaining craft in our escort were ordered to keep circling around us to ward off possible further danger, while several depth charges were dropped as a precautionary measure.
“Meanwhile work had been hastily started to check the inflow of water. The whole crew was in good spirits and worked untiringly. Through the increasing inclination of the ship two boilers were raised out of the invading water, after which they were immediately lighted and gave us a supply of steam for the pumps. These two boilers were kept going until the very last moment, and the stokers who fired them stuck heroically to their posts.
“The three pumps, however, proved impotent against the enormous mass of water that was rushing into the ship, breaking bulkheads and penetrating everywhere. Under tremendous difficulties attempts were made to stretch canvas over the breaches in the hull, but this proved futile owing to the insufficient size of the mats and to the ignorance as to the exact location of the holes. From the very outset attempts were made to prevent listing by flooding the opposing compartments on the port side. This revealed a constructional error which prevented execution of the idea, in that the Kingston could only be operated through the lower compartments, which could not at the time be reached.
“The inclination of the ship steadily increased until the battery of 6-inch guns was awash. The four triple turrets of big guns had all been swung to port at the very outset. We started to throw overboard the 12-inch shells, though we found the work very difficult with the ship’s inclination increased to twelve degrees.
“As all our attempts to stem the invasion of the water proved vain, the idea that the ship was destined to sink became momentarily more real, and the activities of the crew began gradually to slacken as they came to realize that all their superhuman efforts were of no avail. Constant reports were coming to the bridge that the bulkheads were being broken, and we were informed that even the armored cover over the ammunition hatch had been unhinged and the compartment flooded.
“The Tegetthof had already made'one attempt to take us in tow and had been driven off by the supposed discovery of a periscope, against which a sharp fire was opened. While she was clearing away from us it was discovered that the floating device of one of our depth charges had been mistaken for a periscope; yet, in spite of this, it required a long time to have the firing stopped. When the Tegetthof approached the second time, the wake of one of the torpedo boats was interpreted to be that of an enemy torpedo, and firing was once more opened on this second false target. It was only at 5 45 that the Tegetthof succeeded in sending by one of its boats the first line across to us. By that time the ship had listed to eighteen degrees, which made it almost impossible to walk on the decks. With the giving way of the hatches of the coal bunkers and the rush of water into the batteries the listing kept increasing very rapidly. The last figure I remember reported was twenty- four degrees.
“The members of the crew that were not occupied with the work of receiving and making fast the towing lines were gathered along the port rail, while all the objects that were not fastened down were rolling to starboard and splashing into the sea.
“At six o’clock the captain sent me down to the deck to station three buglers, one in the bow, one amidships, and one aft. All hands were called from below. While I was engaged in stationing the buglers, the listing of the ship became most threatening, as the starboard gunwale was going under water. Meanwhile a constant sound of gurgling was coming from below, so that I felt sure the ship would turn turtle in a very few minutes. Crawling on all fours, I made my way to the port rail. Most of the crew had pulled off their clothes and were one by one leaving the ship.
“I looked up at the bridge and saw the captain holding on by the rail, just as the ship was beginning to turn more rapidly, while on the poop stood the chaplain, blessing the crew. A great ‘Hurrah!’ broke forth from every throat—that was just at 6:05.
“Before me I saw the hull coming steadily out of the water. I climbed along the plates outside the rail as far as the bilge keel. Just as I reached it, the ship took an accentuated roll that brought the bilge keel perpendicular. I climbed over it and threw myself into the swirling water, where I was rolled over and sucked under several times. Just a little later the water seemed to grow quiet, and I was brought to the surface by the buoyancy of my life belt. I made my way to a point about eighty or one hundred meters from the ship, which was still floating bottom up and from whose every opening water and steam were spouting. I slipped off my outer coat and started to swim toward one of the torpedo boats. I had taken only a few strokes when the stern of the Szent Istvan rose out of the water and showed her propellers. I could still see several sailors clinging to the hull just before the last plunge, when she dove straight downwards and disappeared from sight.
“I was picked up by a torpedo boat and taken to Bargulje Bay, where we were all sent on board the Tegetthof. The roll call showed that there were 4 officers and 120 men missing.”
Although this were a dramatic enough recital of the unusual feat of a single individual, it seems as though fate were taking no chances and prepared for the world a second and more extraordinary record of the ebbing away of life from this great giant of the sea.
As the Austrian commander in chief had had dreams of an imposing and successful action against the Italians in the Straits of Otranto, he had given orders that two of the destroyers carry with them a moving picture camera and operator, little thinking that one of these would stand by and picture the last stages of the sinking of the newest dreadnought in his fleet. It seems almost that Nemesis was unable to resist this temptation, which she capitalized a second time in a most incredibly adventitious manner. It came to the knowledge of the Italian officers that such a film existed, and they searched for it when they took possession of the Austrian base at Pola on November 3, 1918, only to find that it had been removed before the surrender.
Later, those who had come into possession of the unusual picture tried without success to sell it in Vienna and then turned to Italy, where they finally disposed of it to a moving picture corporation under the direction of an ex-naval officer, who recognized clearly the unusual character of the picture. With this record of the sinking of the Szent Istvan now in his hands, the director secured the cooperation of the Italian naval authorities and had reenacted some of the more important scenes in the daring work of the other Italian officers who had gone single-handed against the Austrian men-o’-war. This film has now been completed and is being shown in Italy under the caption, “Our Heroes of the Sea.”
Following upon the unusual work of Comandante Luigi Rizzo, who had single- handed put three Austrian men-o’-war out of action and had received a second gold medal for his “victory” in the naval battle of the Adriatic, there came, just at the end of October, 1918, the third great dramatic performance by these Italian “Davids of the Sea,” when Major R. Rossetti, a naval constructor, invented a most compact, self- propelling, buoyant machine and, with Naval Surgeon Lieutenant R. Paolucci, took his ingenious device inside the strongly protected harbor at Pola to attack the enemy flagship, Viribus Unitis. Through the courtesy of the Italian naval authorities the reader is again able to live over for a moment the experiences of that unusual night in Istrian waters. Captain Paolucci is now a prominent member of the Italian parliament, while Captain Ciano, who is mentioned in the opening paragraph, is the present energetic minister of communications in Italy.
Captain Paolucci’s report in part follows:
“At 1:00 p.m. on October 31, 1918, the torpedo boat 65 P.N. left Venice for Pola. Captain Costanzo Ciano, the organizer of the expedition, the poet, Sem Benelli, and several other officers were on board with us. The sky was cloudy and foretold approaching rain. The sea was dead, dark and dull. When I heard the screw churning, I felt that for Colonel Rossetti and myself the moment was a solemn one.
“The campanile in the Piazza San Marco faded in the distance and finally disappeared. Should we ever see it again? When we were out in the open sea, Captain Ciano scanned the water with his sailor’s sharp eye. Answering my question as to whether the weather would be favorable to us, he said that it was just what he wanted.
“Then I answered Sem Benelli’s many questions as to the working of the instrument on which we were depending for the destruction of the Viribus Unitis and, under his kindly regard, fastened to the bow of our unusual craft a small silk flag which my father had given me when I started for the war on May 20, 1915, just four months before his death.
“At about eight o’clock in the evening we were in sight of Brioni Island. After lowering the machine into the sea, we ourselves entered the electrically driven motor boat, with which we towed our apparatus to within a mile from the outer obstruction of the harbor.
“Then Captain Ciano, in a rough voice which betrayed how deeply he was moved, said:
“‘It is time for you to go into the water.’
“That was exactly ten o’clock. We shook hands and embraced one another in silence, let go the ropes to which we were clinging and were soon well away from the motor boat, which after only a few seconds had quite disappeared. I was holding on at the bow of the machine, while Colonel Rossetti was at the stern. We proceeded rather slowly, as the phosphorescence of the water was uncommonly brilliant.
“Around and above us were night and the unknown, both dark and silent. It seemed as though everything in that immensity of black mystery were dead save for two opposing living objects, the searchlights of the enemy and our beating hearts. As Colonel Rossetti, who was controlling the machine, quickened the speed, a wave broke over me and went down my neck and breast. It was colder than the water of the Venetian lagoon, in which I had been swimming nearly every night for many a month past; though perhaps it only seemed colder to me because I was warm and my heart was beating very fast as a result of the injections of camphor which we had been given before entering the water.
“Out of the darkness began to take form the mass of Cape Compare, which Captain Ciano had warned us to keep on our right in order to get in through the outer obstruction. At ten thirty we reached this and found it was formed by a line of empty metal cylinders of not more than nine feet in length, from which depended heavy steel cables about six feet long.
“Keeping our hold on the machine with our left hands, we used our right ones on the cylinders to push it forward without working the motor; but, after making about 100 yards, we perceived it was impossible to continue further in this manner, as it would certainly make us quite too late. Consequently we started the motor at a very low speed and helped ourselves forward by swimming, until we found an opening in the obstruction. Was it possible that we had come to the breach by the mole, the gate through which we were to enter the port? We passed through this opening and, only after proceeding some distance, perceived that the supposed break had been caused by the immersion of some of the cylinders. After much effort and lost time we had succeeded in getting back outside the line of cylinders to recommence our proper course, when suddenly I felt myself seized by the arm.
“Turning round, I saw Colonel Rossetti pointing to a black mass which seemed to be advancing towards us. We stopped and immersed the machine and ourselves as much as possible. Then we clearly made out the object to be the turret of a submarine, which approached so near to us that I began to suspect that we had been found out and instinctively placed my hands on the control valves to fire the torpedoes and to destroy the machine, in accordance with our instruction. But the black mass passed by us not fifty yards distant, continued on and disappeared, leaving us to resume our course.
“When at length we arrived at the proper opening and were alongside the pier, we decided, after a brief consultation, that it was necessary for one of us to swim forward alone to reconnoiter, in order to find out whether the concrete blocks forming the wharf carried on straight down into the water, which could afford us a hidden path in the shadow of the pier, or whether they were laid on a rock shelving out just under water, which would compel us to keep a little distance away from the wharf and render us much more liable to discovery by the sentinels above. Keeping my head just far enough out of water to breathe, I dragged along by my hands and kept my feet quite still for fear of the phosphorescence betraying my presence. To my utter joy I ascertained that the wall was upright under the water, returned with the news to Rossetti and helped him back with the machine. It was already past midnight.
“Swimming very slowly almost completely submerged and keeping the machine close to the masonry, we crept along the wharf for about fifty yards, where we found a new forward inspection was necessary, for we wanted to see whether it was better to enter at the right or the left side of the small breach, which was about sixty yards wide. I went along very slowly, clinging to the masonry with both hands, and finally reached the end of the wharf. There, hearing footsteps above my head, I stopped for a few seconds until the noise ceased. Still completely under water, with only my head half out, I raised my eyes towards the pier but did not see anything. We had had our heads disguised to look like floating Chianti flasks. I moved a little bit further away from the wall in order to see better what the danger was that lay just three yards above and bobbed my head about in imitation of the movement of a floating bottle. I could clearly see a figure which stood absolutely motionless. Had it seen me? When I heard it cough slightly I resolved to continue and shortly arrived at the obstruction which barred the entrance to the harbor.
“This was made of long beams, joined to one another so as to form two parallel booms, which were, in turn, crossed by many intersecting pieces. From the beams protruded steel-tipped spikes, half a yard long, to some of which kerosene tins were attached with the very evident purpose of giving sound warnings. At the further end I saw a guard trawler, on board which a red light moved about for a while and then disappeared. Perhaps the man who was carrying it had gone below.
“Far from satisfied with what I had seen, I slowly worked my way back to Rossetti, who was astonished at my absence of nearly half an hour. I told him that I had seen the sentinel and the trawler, and had found the current running out from port very strong. Colonel Rossetti resolved, however, to go forward. It was then one o’clock. No sooner had we gone beyond the wharf than, while I was endeavoring to keep hold of the outer obstruction, the current carried the machine away. I swam with my utmost effort, even at the risk of being discovered, but the tide was too strong and carried us both to the open sea. Time was pressing, and the fear of arriving too late compelled us to take a hazardous decision. Colonel Rossetti set the motor in motion and, after making a wide circle to turn the machine around, steered straight for the middle of the gate. Expecting to be shot by the sentinel, I gazed up at the point where he had been standing but did not see him there. It was just about this time that a drizzling rain commenced, and perhaps the sentinel had taken cover. Colonel Rossetti and I pressed with all the weight of our bodies upon the machine and finally succeeded in getting it past all the beams, over which we had to climb one by one.
“As soon as we were inside, we made out two large steamers, which were the guard tenders that had been described to us by the chief of staff. Once within the obstruction we continued the same procedure we had followed outside, that is, working along the wharf. We expected at any moment to meet a further light obstruction, or boom, made by longitudinal beams, as such was shown on the photographs of the aviators; it might even be a protecting alarm with fine electric wires, and we were all prepared to avoid such a surprise, but we did not come in contact with it.
“Suddenly we came upon another large boat at anchor, whose long bowsprit established the fact that it was an old sailing vessel. We avoided her and moved on forward toward the wire net obstructions, which we found rather sooner than we had anticipated. These were formed by triple rows of nets that ran parallel with the wharf, and by another set of three transversal rows which stretched from the neighborhood of Valle Zonchi and joined the first set at right angles.
“According to the plan supplied us by the headquarters’ staff we should find only the parallel obstructions in our route and should be able to avoid the others; yet, although our long preparation and minute study of the place enabled us, in spite of the darkness, to recognize fairly easily the bay of Val Maggiore and the neighboring one of Valle Zonchi, we were unable to follow strictly the plan which had been decided upon. The compass which Rossetti had was rendered useless through getting filled with water. After having managed to pass beyond the first three wire net obstructions with great fatigue, pushing the machine up on to the nets, we believed we had at last overcome every obstacle. However, a short distance further on we found ourselves facing three more obstructions.
“For a while I was afraid that we had lost our direction and might be going back the same way we had come, but Rossetti had no doubt in the matter and resolved to go straight on. With the first of these obstructions behind us and the second just about to be attempted we saw, at only a few yards distance, a vessel moored to these very nets, and on her a shadow whose form could not clearly be made out. Was it a sentinel on a guard boat? The cessation of our effort gave the current the necessary time to swing the machine around, so that we were in danger of being carried under the bows of the boat. Rossetti quickly decided that I should swim a line up to the third obstruction, secure a purchase on this and pull the machine around straight. Though we thus succeeded in heading it once more in the right direction, the current suddenly capsized it and thereby brought us into a serious position, owing to the proximity of that guard vessel with the mysterious shadow.
“Gathering our last ounce of strength, Rossetti pressed his feet against the nets and his shoulder against the machine, while I helped all I could with the rope. At last we succeeded. With the bow once more headed straight, Rossetti again put the motor in action, and we finally crossed over this seventh and last obstruction.
“It was three o’clock! And by three o’clock, according to our calculations, in which no allowance had been made for the difficulties attending the phosphorescence, the swimming against the current, the false break in the external obstruction and the number of the inner obstructions, so much greater than what we had expected, we ought to have attacked the first two ships and to have been already on our way back through the open sea to rejoin the motor launch.
“Rossetti made signs that he wanted to speak to me. When I was sufficiently near him he told me that of the 205 atmospheres of initial pressure more than one half had already been consumed, so that what was left would be hardly enough for the return, even if we should give up the enterprise at this point. We decided to abandon the return and to use the time we still had before dawn to attack the great men-o’-war of the Viribus Unitis type.
“The order of the Austrian ships at anchor in the port was as follows: Radctzky, Erzherzog Franz Ferdinand and Zrinyi, pre-dreadnoughts; Prinz Eugen, Tegetthof and Viribus Unitis, superdreadnoughts. Consequently we headed toward the largest ships with the intention of attacking two if them, and advanced with as much speed as we dared along the line of the great hulls, always keeping as far as possible from them. The Radetzky was quite dark, but the Viribus, which lay much farther within the port, was well lighted.
“In the mingled rain and hail which now came beating down upon us we were proceeding at good speed when I suddenly perceived that the machine was sinking. I drew near to Rossetti and saw he was desperate, with water up to his mouth as he struggled to keep the machine afloat. Hastily I made sure that the immersion valve in the prow was closed, while Rossetti reached down to examine the one in the stern, which we found had in some way—we could not tell how—been opened. He shut it and opened the emersion valve, so that we at length saw the machine rising to the surface. Of all the trying moments we had spent, this was undeniably the most painful. We went on our way again, but it seemed as though we would never arrive. Four o’clock had already passed, and we were not yet abreast the Viribus Unitis, where we arrived only at 4:15. As the tide was still making out, we thought it best to bring ourselves about 100 yards up the current from the prow of the Viribus, stop the machine, immerse it as much as possible, slip low into the water ourselves and float slowly down with the tide until we came under her bows. Unfortunately, the current carried us far out of our desired path and forced us to start the motor again and go a long way back up-stream. When we were at a distance of twenty yards from the Viribus Unitis, I was, according to the plan arranged by the command, to swim under the bows and attach the torpedo; but Rossetti bade me remain and wait for him, because he wanted to go himself. I obeyed, and it was perhaps as well, for he met with unexpected difficulties, which he overcame with his admirable firmness and greater experience, where I might easily have failed.
“When Rossetti left me, it was ten minutes before five, and I was to have waited for him, cruising a little further out; but the current carried me off to the anchorage of another smaller man-o’-war, where I tried to turn tire machine around. Though I made the most desperate efforts to put it right again, I did not succeed and was in danger of colliding with the ship, when, in the very strength of despair, I conceived the idea of diving with the line attached to the bow and thus bringing a stronger resistance into play. After going under several times, with short breathing spells in between, I succeeded in giving the machine a proper direction and then, putting the motor in motion, slowly cruised back toward the Viribus, where I arrived at 5:15*
“Twenty-five minutes had passed since I parted from Rossetti. Had he been discovered and taken prisoner? If such were the case, I should have seen some lights moving about or heard voices or an alarm. Had he placed the torpedo and, not finding me on his return, thought that I had forsaken him? Had anything happened to him?
“Suddenly the alarm bell on the admiral’s ship began ringing. I saw men moving about on deck, some of them over the place where Rossetti ought to be working. They could not, however, see me, because I was in darkness while they were in the light. But in the distance dawn was beginning to break and, just as I was observing this, the current again took charge of the machine and carried me once more close to the smaller man-o’-war. After repeating the same desperate diving efforts as before, I at last succeeded in bringing the nose around and steered for the Viribus, resolved, if I did not see Rossetti, to go close alongside with the whole machine. It was then 5:25.
“I was at last moving along the waterline of the ship, when I made out something resembling a floating flask. It was Rossetti— and my heart had never experienced a greater joy. But day was breaking fast, and the wish to speed to the shore and escape into the open country aroused a desire in us to travel much faster than the dawn.
“Suddenly a searchlight from the fighting top of the Viribus swept the water near by and finally settled square upon us. We were under oath to destroy the machine at all costs. Momentarily expecting fire to be opened on us, we hastened to perform our task. While Rossetti opened the immersion valve, I activated the second torpedo and put the motor in motion; thus, going ahead and sinking at the same time, the machine went to rest in that watery grave that would soon receive also the great craft which now so defiantly dominated us.
“Meanwhile a boat which we had seen moored alongside the Viribus came toward us.
“‘Wer daf
“‘Italienische offizieren,’ I answered. They pulled us on board. A moment later we were mounting to the deck of the dreadnought, a few yards below which there was a charge of the most powerful explosive, which would send the ship to the bottom in a very short time. It was just five minutes to six.
“A number of sailors crowded around us and took us below. Their faces wore expressions of curiosity more than hostility, as they did not understand who we were, nor why or how we had come. Meanwhile we saw on the caps of some of them the word ‘Jugo-Slavia.’ They explained to us that the Austrian admiral had left a few hours earlier and that all Germans, Hungarians, Bohemians, and Italians on board the Viribus would leave on that day, since the fleet had been given up to Jugo-Slavia.
“They awoke the captain of the ship, von Voukovic, who was also commander of the fleet, and brought us before him. We were bewildered by this information and in doubt as to how to act. We knew well that it was not within our power to change the orders we had received from the command, neither did we wish to do so; but we clearly saw the possibility of saving many lives through informing the captain that the ship would be blown up. We also felt that, by confessing the truth, we might likewise be able to save .ourselves. Consequently we quickly decided to warn the commander; and Rossetti, having told him that he wished to speak with him in private, said:
“ ‘Your ship is in serious and imminent danger. I urge you to abandon it and save your men.’ ” Answering the commander’s question for information as to the cause of the danger, Rossetti continued:
“ ‘I cannot tell you, but I warn you that she will go down in a very short time.’
“Von Voukovic then shouted in German:
“‘Viribus Unitis, let all who can save themselves. The Italians have put bombs in the ship.’
“We heard the doors opened and shut in a hurry, we saw half-naked people running about like mad and going up the gangways to the open decks. Then we heard the noise of bodies splashing, as they threw themselves into the sea. Meanwhile, with the help of a sailor, I succeeded in cutting away my water proof suit and, approaching Rossetti, awaited his decision. He asked von Voukovic if we might be allowed to save ourselves and received the answer:
‘“You may.’
“So we returned on deck and jumped into the sea. With the fresh shock of the icy- cold water, in which we had already spent eight hours, and with one of my legs still wrapped in a piece of my coat—of which I had been unable to free myself completely —I felt that I was about to drown, as the water was already in my mouth. But just then Rossetti, who was still fully dressed, came to me, held me up and took from my head the steel helmet which, in the confusion of the moment, I had forgotten to take off. So with great difficulty we swam away from the Viribus and, after going about a hundred yards, were beginning to harbor the hope and joy of saving our lives, when a boat came rowing towards us and ordered us, in threatening tones, to return to the Viribus. We thought they meant to force us to our death on the condemned ship and, with this bitter certainty in our hearts, we once more mounted the same gangway near which the explosive was placed. On the gangway there was a threatening crowd of men, most of them naked and dripping with water, some of whom cried out that we had deceived them, while others clamored to know where the bombs were.
“After a few minutes we succeeded in making our way to the very stern of the ship, where I looked at the clock and saw that it was 6:27—and at 6:30 the torpedo was timed to explode! I heard a sailor shouting:
“ ‘Let us take them to the hold, if it is true that the ship will be blown up.’
“Meanwhile we were surrounded by the menacing crowd; pressing close upon us, some of them cut away Rossetti’s clothes, in order to search him, while others rummaged among the garments I had left on the deck, and one particularly vindictive individual snatched from my neck a locket which contained some hair of my father and grandmother.
“I watched the ship’s clock—twenty-eight minutes past, twenty-nine .... then the explosion ! A dull noise, a deep roaring, not loud or terrible, but rather light was followed by a column of water that shot high into the air. I felt the deck vibrate, shake and tremble. I turned around and found I was practically alone. Every one had been seized by the single thought of saving himself. Von Voukovic was there, putting on’ a life belt. Rossetti was near and was undressing, at the same time eating a piece of chocolate which had fallen out of one of his pockets. As he could not divest himself of his waterproof garments without aid, I stepped over and helped him. Finally Rossetti, turning to the commander, reminded him that the laws of war permitted us to attempt to save ourselves. The commander then shook hands with both of us and, pointing to a rope by which we might descend, indicated a passing life boat into which we could climb.
“I went over the side and swam toward the boat. Just before I reached it, I saw a mop of hair bobbing near me; I grasped it and raised out of the water the head and face of an Italian sailor. Then I tried to secure a hold on the boat, but one of the men who was rowing protested to the others that I must not be allowed to clamber in and was about to strike me when I seized his oar. He was just reaching for another, with which to club me off, when the Italian sailor, who was already in the boat, gave me his hand and pulled me aboard.
“Meanwhile I saw Rossetti sliding down the rope, and it was not long before he was beside me in the boat. We stood and gazed' at the tragic scene. The dawn had broken, and in this colorless light the great mass of the Viribus Unitis settled in her grave. As we looked, the word Unitis was already under water, and only Viribus could still be seen. What irony in that Viribus, which was now but a sinking corpse.
“Around that once powerful giant of the sea nothing could now be heard but cries, shouts and oaths and nothing seen but a fear-laden confusion of men and things. As our boat drew further away, the Italian sailor, whom I had pulled up by his hair, cried out in a pitiful voice, which seemed to have nothing human in it:
“ ‘Oh, my ship! My beautiful ship!’
“And to us, affected by that tragic vision and weakened by exposure and suffering, that cry of a sailor’s love for his perishing ship seemed impressively fine in its despair.
“The Viribus Unitis listed more and more and, as soon as her rail was under, she turned completely over. The big guns of the turrets broke away from their moorings like toys, but it was only for an instant one saw them, for they quickly disappeared into the depths, leaving behind them nothing but the upturned keel, tinged with a greenish hue. After that the great hull slowly sank.
“Before it went entirely under, I saw a man crawling along to the keel, where he stood upright. As he rose, I recognized Commander von Voukovic, who was killed a few minutes afterwards through being struck on the head by a beam when he was swimming away from the strong, sucking current of the whirlpool, from which he had just managed to extricate himself.
“We were taken by the boat to a landing place, from which, half naked and still dripping, we were sent along to the hospital ship Habsburg. My hands and feet were numb with cold, and I felt my liver aching, probably on account of the blood stasis. Just after we landed, a sailor struck me such a heavy blow in the side with his fist that I almost fainted. It was the sight of Rossetti, walking in front of me with his head high and as proud as an ancient Roman, glaring at those who longed to lay hands on him, that sustained me.
“On board the Habsburg a doctor counted my pulse and said:
“' Funfzig’ (fifty), and ordered me some hot coffee. Rossetti, who felt stronger than I, rubbed my benumbed legs, which helped the hot drink and a cigarette to restore me.
“I think it useless to relate the vicissitudes of the first of November and the depressing anticipation, which luckily lasted but a few minutes, of being shot. Neither do I think it necessary to speak of the five days of imprisonment, during which we were chivalrously treated.
“At the end of the fifth day, while I was looking out of my porthole, I saw the Saint- Bon entering the harbor of Pola. Fearing I was in a dream, I hastened on deck. Mad with joy at realizing the truth, I seized a megaphone and shouted, but nobody answered. Rossetti and I then repeated the cry, whereat a man standing on the bridge in the midst of a group of officers waved his cap in the air and called back to us. It was Admiral Cagni.
“Having been set free that same evening, we went on board the Saint-Bon, where Admiral Cagni and all the other officers were waiting for us at the head of the gangway, while the under officers and crew covered the batteries, the decks, the fighting- tops, and the funnels.
“The minute we stepped on the gangway of the Saint-Bon and were once more under the flag of our own country, Colonel Rossetti and I shouted, ‘Long live the King,’ to which the officers and men above us responded with a great ‘Hurrah!’ that filled our hearts with joy.
“At seven the following morning we were on board the torpedo boat 16 OS. headed for Venice. As we approached, the line of the shore was covered with low clouds, but through them I made out, from the neighborhood of Malamocco, a dark spot on the horizon—the campanile, the tower of our old Republic, of our old naval glory.’’
Such were the main features of this third extraordinary feat by individuals of the Italian Navy against major units of the enemy’s fleet. Whatever may be the findings of naval men the world over on the technical features of their night raid, the man in the street will certainly accord to them, as their own government has officially done, unstinted recognition for the physical endurance and unwavering determination in the face of the all-night struggle in the water with their unruly carrier of high explosives. We are inclined to echo their cry of “Long live the King!” who rules over such men as these.