LE SÉNÉGALAIS.
Samédou Kieta sat up in bed with a child's primer open before him. "M—A," he spelled. Then, after an incredibly long time of patient puzzling, "M—A—MA. Oui, MA. Y a bon!" and embraced the whole ward in one wide white grin before turning to the next syllable, "M—A—N." Once more the puzzled frown on the black face, once more the whispered hints from neighbouring beds, once more the triumph of perseverance, "M—A—N—MAN!" He was just enjoying his success and chanting his pidgin-French paean of happiness, "Y a bon! Y a bon!" when Soeur Antoinette paused by his bed. "Très bien, Sidi," she said, "mais il faut les mettre ensemble," and with her white finger she guided his black one back to the first syllable.
Here was difficulty indeed! He knew all right that M—A—N was MAN, but what was M—A? And when, after intense effort, he re-discovered that M—A spelled MA, it was only to find that he had forgotten what M—A—N spelled. At last the other wounded could contain themselves no longer, and the ward was filled with laughing shouts of "Maman!" in which Samédou joined most happily.
Presently the English nurse passed the negro's bed, and he at once turned to another branch of learning. "Good morning," he said, and, when she smiled back a greeting to him, he added, "T'ank you," and looked proudly round him at his fellow-patients as who should say, "See how we understand one another, she and I!"
During a sojourn of many months in the hospital Samédou invariably met the sufferings he was called upon to endure with an uncomplaining fortitude, which might have seemed due to insensibility had not the staff had ample proof that his silence was the silence of a fine courage. On one occasion a set of photographs of the hospital was in preparation, and when the salle de pansements had to be taken the photographer decided that the best lay figure for his mise-en-scène would be a black man, as a striking contrast to the white raiment of the staff. So Samédou was carried in on a stretcher and laid upon the table. Unfortunately the surgeons and nurses were so occupied with the business of placing things in the best light that no one realised that the poor Senegalese did not understand the purpose of the preparations, and when the English nurse was called to take up her position she noticed the hands of Samédou Kieta clutching the sides of the table and his black eyes rolling in a sea of white.
She at once ran to the nearest ward. "Quelqu'un voudrait bien me prêter une photographie?" she asked, and a dozen eager hands offered her the treasured groups of la famille. Taking one at random she returned to Samédou and held it before his eyes. "Nous aussi," she said, "toi, moi, le Major, l'infirmier."
Samédou looked, and a heavenly relief chased the tension from his face. "Y a bon," he said happily. "Toi, bon camarade!"
When his wounds began to be less painful the problem was how to keep the Sidi in bed. No one cared to be very severe with him, so the staff resorted to the usual weak method of confiscating all his clothes save a shirt, and hoping for the best. But one day the English nurse, going unexpectedly into a distant ward, came upon Samédou Kieta, simply dressed in a single shirt and a bandage, visiting the freshly-arrived wounded and scattering wide grins around him. At her horrified exclamation he began to shrivel away towards the door, ushering himself out with the propitiatory words, "Good morning. Good night. T'ank you. Water!" A most effectual method of disarming reproof.
Poor Samédou has since passed on to another hospital for electric treatment, but the staff still treasures his first and only letter:—
"Moi, Samédou Kieta, arrivé à l'autre hôpital. Y a bon. Mais moi, Samédou Kieta, toi pas oublié. Merci, Monsieur le Major deux galons. Merci, Soeur Antoinette. Merci, Madame l'Anglaise. Y a bon. Y a bon. Y a bon."
"The Germans have suffered 100,000 casualties in 10 days on the western front, and their losses will increase rapidly. They must shorten their lives wherever possible in order to save men."—Ceylon Morning Leader.
In this laudable endeavour they may count upon receiving the hearty assistance of the Allies.
"Young gentleman (21), good family, strong, healthy, public school, O.T.C., Varsity education, speaks English, French, Spanish perfectly, engineering training, efficient car driver and mechanic, horseman, is open to any sporting job connected with war; willing undertake any risks; no salary, but expenses paid."
If the advertiser will apply to the nearest recruiting-station he will hear of something that will just suit him.
"The inhabitants of the Peak district are in a state of great alarm at the invasion of a great part of their beautiful country by what some of them describe as a plague of locusts, and yesterday considerable numbers of people visited the district where the hosts are still advancing. Many from Sheffield and Manchester alighted at Chinley, Edale, and Hope, among them some eminent etymologists, anxious to be of assistance in ridding the country of a serious menace to the field and garden crops."—Yorkshire Paper.
It is understood that the etymologists are chiefly concerned for the roots.