On The Wallaby, The Diary of a Queensland Swagman by Edward S. Sorenson

A cup of tea at Merrivale put George in good spirits, and he sang bits of song and told yarns by turns as we rode out to the Three-Mile- Waterholes, where a scalper was camped, doing big business among the wallabies that abounded in neighbouring brigalow scrubs. The camp was George's home--or the nearest approach to such that this lone wight of the bush could lay claim to.

The managing-director of the scalping industry was a big middle-aged man named Whistle. He did no wallaby hunting or scalping himself; that was done by a tribe of blacks, who received opium and rations in return. Some got tobacco also--if they earned it. The rations were munificent. Night and morning a kerosene-tin of water was boiled, into which was thrown a handful of post-and-rail tea and a pannikin of brown sugar. One pannikin of this mixture and a smoke of tobacco, or its equivalent in damper was each one's breakfast; and the same quantity of tea and a small slice of damper were doled out at night. They received also a nightcap of opium.