Dinsmore Ely

April 3. Orders to the Front in new planes.

Reported to headquarters to find I was released from French Army and must go to United States headquarters. Left for Paris and there received orders to go to American Army center in France.

April 4. Arrived at A. A. C., was sworn in as second lieutenant.

April 5. Returned to Paris, ordered clothes, and now await orders to action.

With love.

    Your son,
    Lieutenant Dinsmore Ely.

    A. E. F., 45 Ave. Montaigne, April 5, 1918.

Dear Family:

You have probably heard more from me in the last ten days than you will in the next ten. Please pardon me for not having written. Things have moved fast, and all the world strains at attention.

What do we know of the great German offensive? The Boche has made great gains with suicide tolls as a price. The English have made splendid resistance with a retreat which will need explaining. And the turn of the battle came when the French Army arrived. It is hoped that the American Army can be of assistance in the world’s greatest battle, of which the first phase has lasted twelve days already. German communics say this offensive may last for months, but it is the final of the war. The statement was made when they thought the allied line was broken. When the German people discover that the great offensive failed to gain its end, they may interpret it as defeat. If the German people cannot be made to believe that the ground gained in this offensive is of more value than a place to bury their dead, the German Government is whipped.

I went up in a balloon. Lieutenant Grant from Ohio, with whom I formed a friendship, took me up one morning from five to six-thirty. The great balloon made a curved outline against the sky above the tree tops. As we approached in the morning dusk, the darkness and the night chill still struggling to keep off the coming day, many figures hustled to muffled commands. Then, at the order, the balloon moved out into the open and upward until the men clinging to the wet side ropes formed a circle about the basket on the ground. We were put into belts and fastened to our parachutes before getting into the car. Then at the command to give way, the car left the ground and mounted upwards. Soon we were at two thousand feet, and the woods and machines and human forms were lost in the ground haze which clung in the hollows.

With all the flying in the sky which I have done, this was the first time I had hung in the air. I had never realized the air was so empty and so still. The stillness of the mountains is broken by its echo. There are splashes in the stillness of the sea, but the air doesn’t even breathe. Only the desert could be so silent. My companion spoke into his telephone in low tones, to test the wires. He showed me the map, and then pointed out the direction of the enemy lines. Suddenly there was a flicker of fire in the western horizon, like fire flies in the grass. Some time after, there came the distant booms. Opposition firing started, and for a time the duel lasted. But as the sun began to rise, and the mist clear, the firing became intermittent, and finally ceased, and the appalling silence seemed to bear us skyward with its pressure. I shivered. I wonder if the soul shivers as it leaves the earth in search of peace. I think I should prefer to have my soul stay down in the warm earth with my body and the kindly reaching roots of flowers and all the ants and friendly worms than to float up in that everlasting silence. It seemed high, too – much higher than I had ever been in an aeroplane, though it was only seven hundred meters. It was a wonderful experience – but give me the aeroplane, or the submarine, and leave the balloonist to listen for the heartbeat of the Sphinx.

We had just gotten our room nicely decorated with curtains, rug, table cover, hanging lamps, and pictures when we were ordered to move; but everyone was glad of the prospect to get into the fight. We had gone on a patrol nearly to Metz that day and had tried but failed to catch two enemy planes which were located by anti-aircraft shells. That evening we ate our last meal in Toul, and the next morning were in Paris after an all-night ride.

Paris is neither excited nor exciting. Refugees were coming in and going through. Many had left the city while it was being bombarded. All my friends had gone to various country places, and I could see the streets were not so crowded.

I have been here for five days now. We came to a distributing station just outside of Paris to get new machines and then go into the Amiens sector. It took a few days for the machines to be prepared. I was to have a new Spad. On the day we expected to depart, I reported to the captain and he informed me that I was dismissed from the French Army and had a second lieutenancy in the American Army. What could have been more inopportune, just as I was going to the real Front? Well, I said good-bye to the escadrille and hurried to Paris and from there to a distant American Army center, and then back to Paris for more orders, and by that time I was officially an officer. Meanwhile, my suit was being made, and two days later, I was all dressed up in new clothes. With the assistance of a letter from one captain, I had obtained a promise from the lieutenant, the captain, major, colonel, and general of the Paris office of the Aviation Section to have me returned to the French escadrille as a detached American officer. As it was necessary to receive written orders from another distant headquarters, I have been waiting for them here in Paris. I went out yesterday to see the escadrille leave; they had been detained by bad weather.

I expect to return to the French escadrille in two or three days. After that, I shall be an American officer and probably not be able to obtain further permissions to Paris. At present, my one desire is to reach the defensive Front. Right now, it is hard for the French mind to grasp how much the Americans have wanted to help in this defensive during their first year of preparation. No matter how great a thing the American organization is to be, if we suppose there are 300,000 Americans actually fighting in this offensive (no one knows numbers) we must keep things in scale by remembering that Germany alone has probably had more than a million and a half put out of action in this battle alone.

And I want to say in closing, if anything should happen to me, let’s have no mourning in spirit or in dress. Like a Liberty Bond, it is an investment, not a loss, when a man dies for hiscountry. It is an honor to a family, and is that the time for weeping? I would rather leave my family rich in pleasant memories of my life than numbed in sorrow at my death.

    Your son,
    Dinsmore.

ADDENDA

The Services at Paris

Dr. Alice Barlow-Brown (of Winnetka) was in Paris at the time of Lieut. Ely’s death, and attended the services, which were very impressive, and which indicated the appreciation of the French for the personal and national service which we as their allies are endeavoring to render to them and to the common cause.

Extracts from Dr. Brown’s letter follow:

    Paris, April 24, 1918.

Dear Mrs. Ely:

This afternoon I realized how very proud you should feel that you have given to the “great cause” one of the noblest and best of young men. I was more impressed of this as I walked with many others behind the hearse and saw the reverence and homage paid him by every one – men, women, and children – to “les Americains,” as the cortege moved along from the chapel at the hospital to the English church – in front of which was draped the Stars and Stripes – where the services were held. The French artillery escorted from the chapel to the church, remaining outside until the services were concluded – then from the church to the gates of the cemetery.

After the detachment of French artillery came a detachment of U. S. marines, the chaplains, then the hearse, on both sides of which were members of the Aviation Corps, five of them from the LaFayette Escadrille, on each side of these were four French artillerymen, marching with their guns pointed down. Behind came the pall bearers and then representatives of the government, the prefect of the Seine et Oise, representatives of the Allied Council and French military. Then followed civilian men and women, the representatives of the Y. M. C. A. and Red Cross. The services at the church and the grave were conducted by the English chaplain and a U. S. army chaplain. The songs were “Abide with Me” and “For All the Saints Who from Their Labors Rest,” also a solo.

From the church the cortege proceeded across the Place des Armes to the Ave. de Paris, for some distance. Here, while in progress, a friendly aviator descended very low and followed for a distance. In passing, every man bared his head, from the small boy of five years of age to the gray haired old men, every one standing reverently while the cortege passed. The silent tribute paid by the French was very touching.

Two striking incidents occurred. At the church when we entered was sitting a French woman in mourning, who joined us in walking to the cemetery, and said that she had a deep sympathetic feeling for the absent parents. Asked for your address to write you. She had lost two sons. The other, an old French woman of 70 years, seeing that it was an American who had given his life for France, joined the procession to pay tribute to him.

While waiting in Versailles, I spoke to Mrs. Ovington, whose son was a fellow companion of Dinsmore’s. She has been the secretary of the LaFayette Escadrille for some time and looks upon all the boys as her own. As soon as she heard of the accident, she visited the hospital, where two Y. M. C. A. workers had preceded her, and found that the best surgeon and nurses were in attendance and everything was being done that was possible for the boy’s comfort. He was taken to the hospital badly injured, with a fractured skull, unconscious and never regained consciousness.

The casket was covered with the Stars and Stripes, over which were many beautiful floral tributes, fully as many as if he were at home. Two very large wreaths, containing the most beautiful flowers, were given by the Aviation Corps, one for his family, the other theirs. These were fastened to the sides of the hearse as it carried the remains. After the lowering of the casket, the bugler of the U. S. marines gave the last reveille. It is difficult for me to describe in detail all that I want to, but I do so want to convey to you that if it had to be it could not have been a better testimonial of one country to another’s countrymen. I was so impressed by the reverence from every one – the military, standing at attention and saluting, the civilians of every class, all in reverence, not in curiosity.

The French feel so deeply grateful to the Americans and love them all. Tears were in their eyes, for they, too, have sacrificed much.

VALHALLA

By Dinsmore Ely

This poem written a few days before Lieutenant Ely’s death was dedicated by him “To My Comrades of the French Escadrille, the Fighting Eagles of France; How They Fought and How They Died.”

Day breaks with sun on the bosom of spring.
Motors are humming, the pilot shall fly today.
Mists clear and find him regarding his bird of prey.
With crashing roar and whirr, three airmen mount the sky.

Cael, tall, and gaunt, eyes of hawk, seeing far;
Parcontal, thrice an ace, steady aim, deadly fire;
Devil Le Claire, quick as light, wheeling like lark at play —
Three grow dim, turn to specks, lost in the morning sky.

Off in the distant sky white bombs of thunder burst,
Signs that the pilot Huns pass bounds that they should fear,

Signaling avions to turn their warpath there.
Men listen tense in groups to catch the sound of strife,
The purr of distant guns, like rustling leaves of death.

While minutes pass, everyone waits.

Then in their vision sweeps, curving in steep descent,
One plane returning.
Rushes by close o’erhead, skims like a gull to earth,
Races back, comes to rest; those in wait run to meet.

Cael, tall and pale, unsteady of step but cool,
Dismounts to reaching hands. Eyes of the hawk are dim.
Helmet all wet with blood, fur coat all spotted red,
Fall into willing hands, showing raw angry wounds
To angry eyes that see how balls explosive, rend.