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.
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 continued
Till the last Frenchman fell, vanquished victorious.
Vengeance for comrades dead, dearly the Huns shall pay!
Mead to the victors gone to drink in Valhalla.