inning.
While awaiting events, C---- and I were invited by young Mr. H----, son
of the Bishop, to visit his sheep station at Malvern Hills, some
forty-five miles distant across the plains, where we could see what
station life was like and have some sport after wild pigs, ducks, etc.
Procuring the loan of a couple of horses we all started early one
morning, what change of clothes we needed being strapped with our
blankets before and behind on our saddles, and I carried a gun.
It was an exhilarating ride in the cool, fragrant atmosphere, although a
description would lead one to think it would be monotonous to ride
forty-five miles over an almost perfectly flat plain, with no more than
an occasional shepherd's hut, a mob of sheep, or an isolated homestead
to break the surrounding view. The plain was almost bare of vegetation,
beyond short yellow grass here and there burnt in patches, and now and
then a solitary cabbage tree (a kind of palm) dotted the wide expanse.
Beyond a few paradise ducks feeding on the burnt patches, or an
occasional family of wild pigs, we met with no animal life. Quail used
to be abundant, but the run fires were fast destroying them. We had
before us the nearing view of the Malvern Hills, the sloping pine
forests and scrub, with the long, undulating spurs running back to the
foot of great snow-clad peaks.
The station, or homestead, stood on a plateau some fifty feet above the
plain; it consisted of two huts, mud-walled and thatched with snow
grass. One of these contained the general kitchen and sleeping room for
the station hands, the other was the residence of the squatter and his
overseer. Behind these there were a wool shed for clipping and pressing
the wool, with sheep yards attached, a stockyard for cattle, and a
fenced in paddock in which a few station hacks were kept for daily use.
On arrival our first duty was to remove saddles, bridles, and swags and
lead the horses to some good pasture, where they were each tethered to a
tussock by thirty yards of fine hemp rope, which they carried tied about
their necks. Then, after a rough wash in the open, we were soon gathered
round a hospitable table in the kitchen, where all sat in common to a
substantial meal of mutton, bread, and tea, the standard food with
little variation of a squatter's homestead.
Night had closed in by now, and we were soon glad to retire to our
blankets, and the sweet fresh beds of Manuka twigs laid on the floor of
H
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