The Little Black Princess: A True Tale of Life in the Never-Never Land

Did you ever see a terribly frightened little black princess? I did, for I saw one then. I was “the Missus” from the homestead, and with the Boss, or “Maluka” (as the blacks always called him), was “out bush,” camping near the river. We had arrived just about sunset, and seeing nigger tracks had decided to follow them, and found Bett-Bett! Big Mac, one of the stockmen, was with us, and it was he who had caught hold of her, but if it had been an army of Debbil-debbils she could not have been more frightened.

“Nang ah! piccaninny,” I said, meaning “come here, little one.” I spoke as kindly as I could, and Bett-Bett saw at once that I was a friend.

She spoke to Sue and came, saying: “Me plenty savey Engliss, Missus!”

This surprised us all, for she looked such a wild little nigger. I asked her where she had learnt her “plenty savey Engliss,” and she answered, “Longa you boys,” meaning she had picked it up from our homestead boys.

After a little coaxing she told us the story of the Willeroos, and said “Dank you please, Missus,” very earnestly when I asked if she would like to sleep in our camp.

As we went up the bank I was amused to see that she was munching her beef. It takes more than a good fright to make a blackfellow let go his only chance of supper. After a big meal of “damper” and honey— “sugar-bag” she called it—she went to a puddle and smeared herself all over with mud, and when I asked why she did this she said: “Spose skeeto come on, him bite mud, him no more bite me meself,” and I thought her a very wise little person.

As soon as it became dark, she and Sue curled themselves up into a little heap near the fire, and fell asleep for the night.

In the morning I gave her a blue and white singlet that I had taken from one of the boys’ “swags”. She dressed herself in it at once, and looked just like a gaily-coloured beetle, with thin black arms and legs, but she thought herself very stylish, and danced about everywhere with Sue at her heels. All nigger dogs are ugly, but Sue was the ugliest of them all. She looked very much like a flattened out plum-pudding on legs, with ears like a young calf, and a cat’s tail!

As we sat at breakfast I asked Bett-Bett if any mosquitoes had bitten her in the night, “No more,” she said, and then added with a grin: “Big mob bin sing out, sing out.” She seemed pleased to think how angry they must have been when they found a mouthful of mud, instead of the juicy nigger they expected.

When we were ready to start for the homestead I asked Bett-Bett if she and Sue would like to come and live with me there. “Dank you please, Missus!” she answered, grinning with delight.

So Bett-Bett found a Missus, and I—well, I found a real nuisance! !

For at least a week after we reached the homestead, Bett-Bett was kept busy protecting Sue from the station dogs. We hadn’t been home an hour before we heard a fearful yell, and running to see what could have happened, found that all the dogs on the place had set on the poor little beast, and were trying to worry her to death.

With a shriek Bett-Bett flew to the rescue. As she ran she picked up a thick stick, and with it fought and hammered and screamed her way into the biting, yelping mob of dogs; then picking up the dusty little speckled ball, she fought and hammered and screamed her way out again to a place of safety. There she sat and crooned over Sue, who licked her face and tried to say—“How good you are, Bett-Bett.”

I don’t know how many fights we had altogether, for the dogs kept at it till they were tired of the fun, which was not before Sue was nearly in tatters.

While Bett-Bett was fighting these battles I was busy sewing, making clothes for her. To begin with, I made her a bright blue dress which pleased her very much, and the singlet was kept for a night-dress, for she would not part with it altogether. Then I made some little white petticoats which she called “Shimy Shirts.” When these were finished I began to make a red dress; but oh dear, the fuss she made! and the fright she got into! In funny pidgin English and with much waving of her arms, she said that if you had on a red dress when there was a thunderstorm the Debbil-debbil who made the thunder would “come on” and kill you “dead-fellow.” When I heard this, of course I made a pink dress, as I didn’t want the Thunder-Debbil-debbil to run off with her. Besides, he might have been angry with me for making red dresses for little native girls.

This Debbil-debbil is a funny sort of person, for although he gets furious if he sees a lubra dressed in red, it pleases him wonderfully to see an old blackfellow with as much red on as he can find. Do you know, if this Thunder-Debbil-debbil is roaring dreadfully, and happens to catch sight of an old man with plenty of red handkerchiefs, and scarves of red feathers tied round him, it puts him into such a good temper that he can’t help smiling, and then nobody gets hurt. But sometimes even a blackfellow with yards of red stuff wound round him can do nothing to quiet this raging Debbil-debbil; then everybody knows that the lubras have been wearing red dresses. Such wicked, selfish people deserve to be punished, and it’s quite a comfort to think that very soon Mr. Thunder-Debbil-debbil will get hold of them and “kill them deadfellow.” Of course, if anybody gets killed by mistake, it will be their fault, for they should have given all their red things to their husbands.

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Billy Muck, one of the wise old men of the tribe, told Bett-Bett this fearful story. Bett-Bett was engaged to be married to Billy Muck, and it was his duty to teach her these things. I fancy Billy made it up, I don’t know; but the wise old men, who are supposed to know everything, have a cunning little way of telling awful tales about Debbil-debbils, so as to get the best things for themselves.

For ages upon ages the old men have told the young men and lubras that they must not eat fat turkeys, or the tail of the kangaroo, or indeed any of the best things that they find when hunting. If they do, a terrible thing will happen, for a big hunting Debbil-debbil will come on with a rush, and in a moment make them very old and weak. “Look at us!” cry the old rascals. “We eat these things, and behold, we are weak old men, with no strength to fight an enemy!” This looks so true that nobody—excepting the old men—cares about eating turkeys, and kangaroo tails, and such things.

Bett-Bett believed all these tales, for she was a little nigger, every bit of her. Like all niggers, she had such a generous heart that she could not bear to have anything good without sharing it with everybody. This was rather a nuisance, for as soon as her clothes were finished she wanted to give most of them to the other lubras.

“Him no more got goodfellow dress, Missus,” she said, almost crying, when I told her she must keep her clothes for herself. I didn’t know what to do; it seemed wrong to teach her to be greedy and selfish, so I had to say that I would make the lubras a new dress each.

This made everybody shriek with delight and for another week we had a merry time choosing colours, sewing dresses, and conducting dog fights. Fortunately the lubras said that “Shimy Shirts” were “silly fellow,” or I suppose I would have had to make enough of these to go round as well.

Among the things I had given Bett-Bett was a warm “bluey” or rug, and wrapped in this she and Sue slept on the bath-room floor every night. She preferred the floor to a bed, and was very funny about my spring mattress—“Him too muchee jump-up jump-up,” she said scornfully.

At bedtime, dressed in her gay singlet, she made her bed. First she spread her “bluey” out on the floor, and jumped and pranced wildly about till she had managed to fold it in four, Then she lifted a corner carefully, and she and Sue crept in like a pair of young opossums. While they were settling themselves the rug bulged and wobbled and wriggled so much, that it looked as though it were playing at earthquakes. At last, when all was quiet, two pairs of very bright eyes peeped out at the top of the bluey, looking for the supper biscuit that I always had ready. As soon as I offered it, out came a thin black arm, and then Bett-Bett, Sue and biscuit disappeared for the night.

It was no use trying to keep these two apart. They simply could not understand why they should not sleep together; so I told Bett-Bett that Sue must have plenty of baths, and that if I ever found one single tick on her, the little dog would have to be given a whipping.

The thought of such a fearful punishment for them both made Bett-Bett shiver with fear. She called Sue and told her all about it, and made her understand that she would have to lie still and be hunted in, so that every horrid little insect could be found and killed. So every day, and many times a day, they had a tick-hunt, and Bett-Bett managed to make a great game of it.

She talked to herself all the time, and pretended that the ticks were wicked people, and that she was a terrible Debbil-debbil, who caught them and killed them “dead-fellow.” How she did grin as she scrunched them between two stones.