Dinsmore Ely

Dins.March 12, 1918.

Dear Family:

In the first place, we are all sad because our captain leaves us today. He is a wonderful man and everyone loves him immediately and always. I have only been here three weeks and yet I wanted to weep. As for him, the tears ran down his cheeks when he said au revoir, mes amis (good-bye, my friends). Another takes his place.

Last night gave a pleasant diversion. It started with a visit to our squadron of a group of aeroplane spotters for the United States balloon service. At their head was the first lieutenant by the name of Grant, from Ohio. He fell into conversation and it developed that he was a very good friend of “Stuff” Spencer’s at Yale. We proved interested in each other’s work and he invited me to come over to have dinner at his camp, located some twelve kilometers from here. I said I’d be glad to some time. He left soon after.

I went over and shot a few rounds at the target, this time without mishap. At about five the craving to walk was upon me, so I took the road leading to the balloon camp, hardly expecting to reach it. With the help of passing trucks I came to the camp, and passed through a town swarming with Americans. Along the roads were blocks of American trucks and ambulances, waiting for darkness to hide their movements. Many mistook me for a French officer and saluted. Those who answered my questions of inquiry stood at attention and replied with “sir.” I wanted to shake hands with them all for they acted as if they had been at it for years. When I came to the officers’ quarters I was introduced to them as into a college fraternity. I was proud rather than angered at having to salute them. They were gentlemen. Now I know why college men will make the best officers. They had a victrola, good food, good esprit de corps. I stayed all night and came back this morning. Well, I want to be a member of the American organization. With all its youngness and inexperience, it is good. God give it speed. I shall go over there again.

This showed me another thing: it is quite simple for me to go to points of interest within a radius of fifteen miles from here and return by morning, this giving me an opportunity for seeing other branches of the service. I am reading up on ballooning, aerial photography, and map work, artillery réglage and reconnaissance, and after that I shall study U. S. Army regulations and also wireless. I may have to change at any time to the United States forces, in which case I wish to be in a position to compete with the men I shall find in it.

It seems to me in my last letter I told you of an accident while shooting and said they were common. Well, since then I have had a real accident, so miraculous in its outcome than I am superstitious as a result. You have read of bandits whose bodies could not be marred by bullets. The gods must be saving me for something. Father has always feared a speed greater than twenty-five miles an hour in an automobile. One has the impression that to hit anything at that speed is very apt to kill one. Also, you know the marked increase in speed between twenty-five and thirty-five miles per hour. Say you have gone fifty miles an hour. Now imagine yourself going twice that fast along a precipice road. Suddenly the machine comes to the edge of the cliff, and plunges out into space, at a hundred miles an hour, and down three hundred feet into a pine forest below. Picture what you would find if you went down and looked into the remains of such an accident. Well, the equivalent happened to me. As soon as I hit I cut the spark and turned the cock which relieves pressure from the gas tank, to prevent fire; released the belt which held me in my seat; reached up and pulled myself out of the wreckage by the limb of a tree which had fallen over my head; and made my way through the underbrush without turning to look at the machine. As I stepped out upon a road half a mile away, a Red Cross Ford came along and took me to a near-by village. There I ate a heavy meal while talking to the madame’s daughter, and then telephoned for them to come and get me. When they arrived we were all singing and playing at the piano.

It was my first flight over the lines. I had been flying alone up and down our sector for half an hour. I had seen seven Boche planes a few miles off, but they had immediately disappeared in the clouds. From the first my motor had been running cold. I had attained the height of 4,700 meters. When I started to come down I found it impossible to descend and yet keep the motor warm enough to run. Clouds had gathered below. I tried to wing slip, but still the temperature of the motor dropped. So I wing slipped through the clouds. I had not planned on it, but they were 2,000 meters thick. I came down from 2,800 to 800 meters in some fifteen seconds, a rate of considerably over 250 miles an hour. If the fog had not been so thick the outcome would have been different for the engine would not have gotten so cold, but by the time I could think of adjusting my motor I was at 400. When I found the motor would not work it was fifty, and over a pine wood. I tried to turn back to a field, but started to wing slip, which is death, so I straightened out, let it slow down a bit, and then pointed it down into the trees at an angle of thirty degrees. It is less dangerous to hit an object that way than in line of flight. Things happened just as I expected. The plane mowed down seven or eight six-inch pines. The motor plowed ahead of me and the trees took the shock as they broke. Just before the machine hit the ground it pivoted on a tree and cut an arc, which slowed it up more. All this happened with the suddenness and sound of a stick broken over the knee, yet I was not jolted. The pine trees fell around me without touching me. The wings and framework and running gear and propeller were shattered, but I was not scratched. I was pinned in the very heart of all this débris, without a bump, a bruise, or a broken bone. Goggles on my forehead, a mirror within an inch of my face, and the glass windshield in my lap were unbroken, though the steel braces all about them were bent and broken. The gasoline tank under me did not have a leak. The rest of the machine was good for souvenirs. It was too big a mystery for me to understand.

Yours in a horse-shoe halo.Son.March 21, 1918.

My Dear Mrs. Hamilton:

It was a pleasure to hear from you, for if ever letters were welcome it is here. People are so kind in writing that I really cannot pretend to answer as I should, but as you were so near my family, I hope you will forgive me if I let you learn the personal side of my experiences from them. Your letter came yesterday. The box has not yet arrived, but thank you for it in advance.

The great German offensive began last night and we wait the results of the distant thunder. Our sector is quiet. If this is not the final scene of the war, I cannot look far enough ahead to see it.

Aside from the war, I like my work. Wonderful architecture abounds. New peoples fascinate. If not a pleasure, it is a privilege to serve in this war.

As ever,Dinsmore Ely.Wednesday, April 5, 1918.

Dear Family:

So long since I wrote, can’t remember where I left off. Last ten days spent as follows:

Mar. 25. Over German lines.

Mar. 26. Ascension in United States balloon.

Mar. 27. Orders to leave Toul with entire escadrille.

Mar. 28. Packed and left Toul, arriving in Paris.

Mar. 29. In Paris preparing to go to Front.

Mar. 30. Reported to aviation center near Paris where escadrille was to receive new equipment of planes.

Mar. 31 – April 1 and 2. Reported each day to headquarters and returned to Paris in evening.

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 his country. 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 woundsTo angry eyes that see how balls explosive, rend.And riddled plane reveals how near death spoke and fast.Now Cael, in gentle hands, speaks slow to eager ears;Tells of the cloudy fray that only gods could see;How three, attacking three, put them at once to flight,Till four more by surprise, made odds with the Huns.Then, swift as hornet darts, fire-spitting eagles fought;Wheeling high and sweeping low, hailed lead on foe.“Quick as the light” Le Claire, ere seconds passed, had two,Falling like shrieking crows to death, three miles below.Parcontal, nearly caught, feigning right, wheeled to left;And so met another foe on him descending.His gun spoke balls of fire, flashing true to the mark.One more Hun fell in flames, leaving but smoke.Three were down, four remained; Cael was apart with three,Met and surrounded at each swoop and turn.Le Claire and Parcontal came now like vengeance sent;All but too late for Cael; riddled and wounded sore, he left the fight.The tall, gaunt, frame relaxed,Eagle eyes saw no more.His comrades breathed a curse.“Vengeance for Cael.”Than that, more is known from the survivor,One Hun a prisoner in France descended.How for great distance combat continuedTill the last Frenchman fell, vanquished victorious.Vengeance for comrades dead, dearly the Huns shall pay!Mead to the victors gone to drink in Valhalla.

1

Bois de Boulogne.