Tipparoo was enlivened about once a week by the arrival of bullock teams, passing to and from Pine Mountain and the mouth of Tomki Creek, engaged in trucking pine logs to the river, to be rafted to sawmills and to vessels at Coraki.
Saturday evening was marked by the advent of these teams; and the thunderous crack of whips, the creaking of the low block-wheels, and the deep-toned voices of the drivers, re-echoed through the resonant wood, as the long teams came filing up the hill, and went creeping on past the homestead to a camping place below. There the bullocks were unyoked, and big brass bells strapped to the necks of those that were given to wandering. Then the tucker-boxes were hauled down from the tops of the loads, and fires built to boil the billies. The light- hearted bullockies bustled about in their shirt-sleeves and torn trousers--often ripped from boot to belt--some whistling a lively hornpipe or a quick waltz, others singing scraps of bush songs; while the deep tones of the bells mingled with the sharp clear notes of the mopokes. The fires were burning briskly, the billies were boiled, and the supper of damper and beef was in progress, when Richard Merton appeared on the scene and at once entered into conversation with a dark-bearded giant, named Harry Wren.
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
