Chapter 10 “Looking-Out Lily-Root”

Bett-Bett and I very often went down to the billabong for an early

morning “bogey,” and she and the lubras were always greatly amused at

my bathing-gown. They called it “that one bogey dress,” and said it was

“silly fellow.”

My swimming also amused them. They saw something very comical and

unnatural in my movements, and I often caught them imitating me. They

seemed to expect me to sink every moment, and never went very far from

me in case of accidents.

One morning we swam right across the billabong to the “nuzzer side,” as

Bett-Bett called it, and there I noticed a man’s tracks on the bank,

and asked whose they were; for of course I did not recognize them. To my

surprise the lubras burst into shrieks of laughter.

“Him Maluka!” they shouted in delight; “him track belonga Maluka; him

bin bogey last night.” Then Bett-Bett screamed to the lubras on the

opposite bank—

“Missus no more savey track belonga Boss.”

It was the best joke they had ever heard—a woman who did not know her

own husband’s tracks! I felt very small indeed, and as soon as possible

went back to the house and breakfast.

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We were going to have fowls for dinner, which always meant great fun for

the blacks. The whole camp generally appeared with sticks and stones,

and when the cook had pointed out which fowls were to be caught, a

most exciting chase took place. Off the birds went at the first

alarm, followed by a shrieking, yelling crowd, flying over and under

everything, and dodging round corners, till they were at last run down.

I tried often to prevent it, but no matter how carefully the birds were

shut up over night, they always managed to get out. The blacks enjoyed

the chase so thoroughly that I suspect the fowls were assisted in their

escape. Bett-Bett and Sue were of course in the worst of it this day,

and by some mishap a stone, meant for one of the fowls, struck Sue on

the front legs. She ran yelping and limping to Bett-Bett, and then I

heard shrieks of—

“Missus! Missus! Sue bin break him arm. Stone bin kill him,” and they

both appeared at the door. I took the poor little dog, and found it was

only too true; one of her arms—as the blacks insist on calling the front

legs—was hanging limp and broken. I bound it up as well as I could, and

Bett-Bett cried piteously because I hurt the little creature.

When everything was made quite comfortable, she took Sue and sat nursing

and crooning over her all the morning.

In the afternoon the Maluka and I were starting out for a ride, when

Bett-Bett appeared with the lubras.

They were going to travel “per boot” or on foot. Slung across

Bett-Bett’s back was a most ingenious sack-like affair, and from it

peeped Sue’s comical little face; for Bett-Bett could not bear either to

leave her at home, or to see her limping about.

We were only going about three miles, and as it was too rough and too

hot to travel quickly, the lubras kept up with us easily. I noticed that

Murraweedbee was with them, and was still dragging her branch. I asked

her if she had seen anything of her husband, and she said— “You eye. Him

Monkey longa Willeroo.”

Then I was told that Murraweedbee was really our Big Jack’s lubra, but

that Monkey had carried her off, the day that we had found Bett-Bett.

Monkey had been very cruel to her, and so she had watched her chance and

run back to Jack. It was a most interesting love-story, and the

exciting part was that Monkey was supposed to be somewhere rather

near. Suspicious tracks had been seen. When we arrived at the Warlock

Ponds—our destination—we found that some of the homestead blacks were

there—all lubras, gathering lily-roots for their husbands’ supper.

When lubras go “looking out lily-root,” as they call it, they take with

them tiny little wooden canoes, about two feet long, called coolamuns.

They leave these floating about on the top of the water, while they

themselves drop down to the bottom for the bulbs. As soon as their hands

are full, they come up again, and putting the roots into the little

vessels, disappear for more.

The Warlocks are always very beautiful ponds, all fringed round

with pandanus palms, and dotted everywhere with magnificent purple

waterlilies, but this day they looked like a peep into fairyland. As

I sat on my horse looking at it, I thought I had never seen anything

prettier than the little, dainty, rocking canoes, sailing among the

blossoms, as the bobbing, curly, black heads of the lubras appeared and

disappeared.

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When the lubras saw us, they swam over, pushing the coolamuns before

them, and as they came nearer I saw that in two of them were wee black

piccaninnies; for a coolamun may be either a cradle or a tucker basket.

There is no fear of their upsetting, for they are beautifully balanced,

and even on land are very hard to overturn; besides, if the baby did

scramble out, it would not matter, for most likely it would only swim

about till its mother came up. I think if I were a baby, I would like to

lie in my little canoe, as it rocked and danced among the lilies.

Suddenly Bett-Bett gave the alarm, and the air was filled with

earsplitting shrieks and yells, as every one pointed to a nigger’s

tracks, and said they were a Willeroo’s, and that he was running

quickly. Murraweedbee pushed forward to see, and then giving a yell of

“Monkey!” started for the homestead like an arrow from a bow, the branch

bobbing and dancing and leaping behind her.

It looked as though an explosion of dynamite had taken place, for every

one, seizing the nearest coolamun or tucker basket, ran helter-skelter

after her. Only Bett-Bett and a poor blind lubra, “Lose-’em Eye,” as she

was called, stayed behind. Bett-Bett preferred white folk and revolvers

when Willeroos were about; perhaps she was also thinking of poor Sue’s

foot.

We started for home with Bett-Bett and Lose-’em Eye between the horses

for safety. At the creek a valiant army met us, setting out to overtake

and conquer Monkey. It was headed by old Jimmy, who had borrowed an old

rusty revolver, and was full of courage to the finger-tips. He also had

old Nellie in tow, to show where the tracks had been seen.

About sundown the valiant army returned, still thirsting for Monkey’s

blood; for although they followed him a long way, his tracks were always

new, and running westward. He evidently was doing a quick passage home.

After much excitement we were of course told most awful stories of

Willeroos, particularly of Monkey, and Murraweedbee was the heroine of

the hour.

Bett-Bett said that once she had been caught by them with some lubras

and piccaninnies, and all the lubras said they remembered it well. It

was a fearful tale, and a fearful experience. They were made to travel

very quickly because of pursuit, and at supper time there was no tucker,

so the Willeroos killed some of the piccaninnies and ate them, and then

went to sleep. Fortunately in the morning some stockmen, who had been

following the tracks, rode into the camp, and the Willeroos took to

their heels, and that time the Roper River lubras escaped, Bett-Bett

among them.

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I asked her how it had happened that she had not been killed and eaten,

and she answered with a chuckle—

“Me too muchee all day bone fellow”—she had evidently not been worth

eating, when fatter piccaninnies were about! “Me all day bone fellow,”

she repeated, holding out a thin little arm. She seemed to think she had

been very clever in being thin, and she certainly had been fortunate!

Poor little mite! she had seen some fearful doings in her short life.

When I asked her if she had eaten any of these piccaninnies, she

said that the blackfellows had not left any for her. “Blackfellow bin

finissem, Missus,” was all she said, and I don’t believe she would have

refused to have eaten her share.

She lay for a while looking up at the sky, and then changed the

conversation by saying—

“Missus, I think big-fellow blackfellow close up finissem, that one

moon.”

“What?” I said, looking at the thin little strip of new moon.

“I think big-fellow blackfellow close up finissem, that one moon,” she

repeated, jerking her voice, as she jerked her finger, towards it,

“Whatever are you talking about, Bett-Bett?” I asked.

She sat up and looked at me in surprise, and asked what did happen

to the moon if a “big-fellow, big-fellow blackfellow”—a giant, I

suppose—didn’t cut it up to make the stars? All the lubras sat up too,

and agreed with her, saying, “Straightfellow, Missus.” Even Sue joined

in the conversation, but perhaps that was because some one had planted

an enthusiastic elbow on her tail.

“Me plenty savey,” said Bett-Bett, lying down again. Then she told me

that away out east there is a beautiful country, where a big tribe of

moons live, hundreds of them. They are very silly creatures, and will

wander about in the sky alone—you never see two moons at once, you know!

Whenever a new moon wanders into the west—she called a full moon a new

one—a great big giant who lives there, catches it and snips big pieces

off and makes stars with them. Some of the moons get away before he can

cut them all up, but this poor moon had been “close up finissem,” first

thing.

“Spose me moon,” said Bett-Bett, “me stay in my country; me no more

silly fellow.”

The suns live out east too, and are a very powerful tribe of “cheeky

fellows.” Every day one of them goes straight across the sky, and nobody

knows what happens to him. At least no lubra knows. Of course the wise

men know everything.

I suggested that perhaps the sun went back at night, but the lubras said

if he did everybody would see him, and so, I supposed, they would.

Stars are very frightened of the sun. They say he is a “cheeky fellow,”

and will “round them up,” if he finds them in the sky; so they hide all

day, and towards night send two or three of the bravest of them to peep

out, and see if he is really gone.

“Look, Missus,” said Bett-Bett, pointing up at the sky. “Littlefellow

star come on now. Him look this way. Him look that way. Him talk which

way sun sit down,” and it seemed, as I watched, as if they really were

peeping cautiously about. Suddenly raising her voice to its very highest

and shrillest pitch, she called— “Sun bin go away alright.”

After she had called, a great number of stars came quickly one after the

other, and she got very excited about it.

“Him bin hear me, Missus,” she cried. “Straightfellow! Him bin hear me.”

After a long silence Bett-Bett said—“Might it God bin make star longa

you country, Missus?”

I only said, “You eye, God bin make my star,” Long ago I had given up

trying to make them understand anything, excepting that God was a great

good Spirit, who was not afraid of the fiercest of Debbil-debbils, and

would chase them away from any one if they would ask Him. I had made

them understand that much, and after many months they were beginning to

believe it. In my first experiences with them I had told them that God

had made all things; and of course they had wanted to know how He made

them, and what He had made them of. They assured me He had not made

anything in the blackfellow’s country. The wise men had an explanation

of how everything there had been made, but I knew nothing of God’s

mysterious ways, and could explain nothing; so I decided to teach them

first to believe in God Himself, and to let the other things alone.

Bett-Bett’s thoughts were evidently on those early lessons, for soon

she asked why God had not made any “bush” in the white man’s country.

A country without a “bush” was a constant puzzle to her. Old Goggle Eye

had once gone a trip to a big town as “boy” with a mob of cattle, and

had come back with the astonishing news that in the white man’s country

there was no “bush,” only tracks and humpies.

Goggle Eye had gone to Western Australia in a steamer with these cattle,

but had walked home, because, he said, the steamer had “Too muchee

jump-up jump-up, too muchee jump-down jump-down; me all day barcoo”

(sick).

Before Bett-Bett went to bed she once more repeated— “Blackfellow bin

make this one mob star, Missus.” Poor mite! she had no idea that her

“mob” and my “mob” were the same “mob.”

Rolly lingered behind every one, and asked if she might sleep under the

verandah this night. Poor Rolly was often very ill, and then was very

frightened of Debbil-debbils and liked to sleep near me. She said

Debbil-debbils could not come near where I was, because “Bigfellow

God all day look out longa you, Missus.” So, you see that after all my

trouble in teaching them, I had given them the idea that I was God’s

especial care.

It is very, very hard work to teach any blackfellow the truth of God’s

goodness and love. They have no god of any sort themselves, and they

cannot imagine one.

After our Willeroo scare we did not wander “out bush” at all, for two

reasons. The fear of Monkey was upon us, and Sue’s foot needed rest.

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