some new reef may come to light, and then will follow a new rush to the fields; yet another outbreak of the fever which renders men delirious, and for the time destroys all their higher ideals of life. Meanwhile, Australia is becoming golden in another and a better sense. By means of honest labour its millions of acres are yielding the most remarkable crops of cereals, roots, and fruits. Gradually the enormous spaces are being subdued and inhabited by a race of men and women who rejoice in the golden sunshine, and who abandon themselves with the zest of children to the magic of life.
And it is in this direction that the West is now prospering. The people generally are really well off. The State revenue for last year was about four millions sterling. These 300,000 people have invested in the State Savings Bank no less a sum than £4,387,639. This means an average per head of the population of £14 10s. 4d., and an average per depositor of £45 8s. 9d. Such figures are eloquent of what may be called the general prosperity of the community. The real source of wealth, however, is the land. This year there are more than one million acres of ground under crop. More than a quarter of a million acres have been “cleared” and prepared for ploughing and sowing during the present year. There are 788,349 acres of wheat and 77,488 acres of oats growing at the present time. Last year nearly four and a half million bushels of wheat and a million bushels of oats were produced from the land. This means immense prosperity. The State is rich enough to spend much money in reclaiming waste land and in rebuilding the old houses. During the last twenty years Perth has been practically rebuilt. I was astonished to behold its beautiful buildings. It possesses splendid Government offices, a fine museum and art gallery, a noble Mint, and almost palatial public buildings. Warehouses and stores, suites of offices, banks, insurance buildings, business premises, and the like, are imposing. Perth promises to be one day a great and noble city. Already the capital is extending. Within a radius of twelve miles one-third of the entire population of the West resides. Sir John Forrest declared that the time would come when Perth and Fremantle and all between would become one vast city. I can quite believe it. Perth is the San Francisco of Australia.
As another evidence of prosperity, the following wages table may be adduced: Bakers get 63s. per week; barbers 55s.; barmen and barmaids 65s.; bootmakers 13½d. an hour; carpenters 1s. 6d. an hour; butchers’ shopmen 60s. to 80s. per week; drapers’ assistants (at Coolgardie) 70s. per week; engine-drivers 1s. 6d. an hour; night watchmen 54s. per week; tailors 70s. per week; and waiters 25s. a week and board. It is all very attractive, but on the other side let these facts be considered: Potatoes are 4d. per lb.; peas 9d. per lb.; cauliflowers from 1s. to 2s. 6d. each; apples (grown on the spot) 6d. and 7d. per lb.—at the present time. One needs a large income to keep pace with these ridiculous prices, which are due largely, I understand, to the manipulations of a “ring.”
And yet, with it all, life here for working men is infinitely more tolerable than in England. It is in truth an El Dorado.
The story of this Golden West is thus a veritable romance. Yet this State has the smallest population of all the States, fewer than 300,000 people covering its million square miles. Its territory is eighteen times as large as that of England and Wales. Imagine this enormous space occupied by a handful of people, about as many as are found in the single city of Bradford, Yorkshire. And these 300,000 people are confined to one or two places in the State. For the rest, there are vast and terrible deserts awaiting the exploring skill of man. Already, in the remarkable water scheme undertaken on behalf of the goldfields, it is demonstrated that science can overcome the almost insuperable difficulties presented by Nature in these deserted regions.
In Western Australia nearly every variety of climate is experienced, from the insufferable tropical heat of the North to the delightful cool of the South. At the seaboard the sky and the climate are delightful. Winters are practically unknown. Children born in the land have no idea what snow is like. Even in the depth of winter the days are warm, and often hot. Overcoats are used only as a protection against rain, and when rain falls protection is needed. The water descends, not in drops, but in bucketfuls. Here Nature seems partial and extreme. The rainy season is well defined, and when it ends it ends. Not a drop of rain falls between October and May. There is need, therefore, for the exercise of human science in order to conserve the precious liquid which descends so plentifully in the season for use in the arid season of the year.
And yet Western Australia is at present cut off from the rest of Australia. To reach Adelaide, the capital of the neighbouring State, it is necessary to voyage by steamer across the dreaded “Bight”—a journey of five or more days. In two or three years, however, this isolation will be ended.
A wonderful forward step was taken in 1912 by the cutting of the first sod of the Trans-Continental Railway. The line begins at Port Augusta, in South Australia, and ends at Kalgoorlie, on the goldfield in Western Australia. In length it is over 1,000 miles, and when it is completed there will be direct railway communication between Queensland and Fremantle—a line of 3,000 miles. But if Australia as a whole is to benefit by it there must be a uniform gauge of rail. Insensate jealousy between the States, and a short-sighted policy on the part of the leaders, resulted, in earlier days, in the establishment of various gauges on the different railways, with the result that there can be no through service of trains from the North-East to the West without change of carriage. This, however, will certainly be remedied. When all is completed, and a fast service of trains established, England and Australia will be brought much nearer to each other than they are at present. With an accelerated speed of steamers across the Indian Ocean, it ought to be possible to bring Fremantle and Marseilles within three weeks of each other.
CHAPTER III
AN ACCOMPLISHED MIRACLE AND A PREDICTION
The problem of obtaining water, of conserving it, and of distributing it, is the problem of Western Australia. In the Eastern States there are many natural waterways, which in part solve the question of irrigation. In the West there are few or none. Until a year or two ago Nature wore a stern aspect outside the few inhabited spots in the West. The desert stretched for hundreds of miles. The country was trackless. Transit was accomplished by the aid of camels. There were no wells or oases to relieve the monotony of the everlasting sand dunes. For the greater part of the year rain does not fall, and when it does it penetrates the sand and rapidly disappears beneath the surface. Water is the need of these great areas. Wherever men have obtained and conserved water, there, as by magic, the face of Nature has been changed. And one day, by the help of science, the transformation will be complete: the desert will blossom as the rose; in the wilderness will springs of water be found.
When the goldfields were opened up the first demand was for water. It was more precious than wine. The gold reefs were situated in the midst of a sterile region entirely inhospitable for man. Water in small quantities was gained and jealously kept. Superfluous baths were not permitted. Photographs of the early scenes in the goldfields suggest the lack of cleanliness. To-day all this is changed. In that former desert settlement there are green lawns and flower gardens. The hard lines on the face of Nature have been softened. The beauty of virginal youth is lacking, but it is much to have gained what has already been won. Five million gallons of pure water are pumped daily a distance of 350 miles, from the coast to the goldfields. It is a triumph of engineering, one of the marvels of the modern world. It was to the scene of the Mani reservoir at Mundaring that we were conveyed by the courtesy of the Government officials, who placed at our disposal an automobile. The “Bush” in every part of Australia possesses certain common features. There are the interminable stretches of wild country, heavily timbered with every variety of eucalyptus tree; the glorious splashes of brilliant yellow wattle; the “clearings” here and there, where settlers transform the unruly riot of Nature’s wild life into the beautiful order of cultivated gardens; the isolated church and school-house; and charred stumps of trees reduced to desolation by the all-devouring forest fires. In the world of animal and bird life there are the wallaby, the kangaroo, the dingo, the treacherous snake, the impudent magpie, the destructive parrot, and the clown of the bush—the laughing jackass. All these we encounter on our journey.
The bush is at once fascinating and oppressive. These awful solitudes; this terrifying