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 stillness! Oh, for the roar of London traffic for one brief hour to break the spell cast over us by the eternal silence of the unending forest. It is all so primitive, so simple, is life in the bush. We pass the pillar post-box—a kerosene tin affixed to a tree. Now and again we cross a solitary railway line, over which trains run twice a week. The notice, “Look out for the trains,” seems to be the quintessence of humour; one might wait during half a week before a train appeared on this bush railway. One strange notice smites us with a smart stroke. It runs thus: “Twenty Miles to York.” So there is a York here; the newest York of all! These notices, natural enough to the inhabitants, seem bizarre to us. “Twenty miles to York.” Ah, then! in an hour’s time this flight through the bush will turn out to have been a curious dream, and we shall be gazing upon the towers of the Minster!... Some of the houses we pass are incarnate poems. Built of wood and surrounded with ample balconies, they are festooned with masses of roses, buried, in fact, beneath the bloom of a thousand flowers. In the gardens surrounding these houses grow oranges, lemons, and palms in profusion, together with fruit and vegetables of every description. Already in this early springtime—corresponding in time to an English April—peas and beans are nearly ready for gathering.
But the wild flowers! We stop the car and penetrate into the bush to gather handfuls of the most wonderful wild flowers I have ever seen. The flora is unique both in colouring and in fantastic shapes. Some of these wild flowers are not found in any other part of the world. We are here at the precise season for beholding this display at its very best. The air is heavy with a strange and subtle perfume. The exquisite and unique scent of the boronia dominates all, while the fainter perfume of the golden wattle insinuates itself, despite its proximity to the heavily scented boronia. In an hour we have gathered an armful of flowers representing every tint known to nature. Above them all stands out, first, “the kangaroo’s paw,” surely one of the oddest productions of the magician Nature. A long, slender stalk, measuring one or two feet in length, and terminating in a flower resembling the outspread paw of the kangaroo—that is the “kangaroo’s paw.” Sometimes the colour is green and scarlet, sometimes black, sometimes purple, orange or red. It is the assertive flower of the forest: the flower one cannot fail to notice. And then, think of it, O Englishmen who gaze in rapture at delicate and expensive orchids; amongst the wild flowers of Western Australia grows the orchid—the orchid grows wild here! A member of our party once gathered in one afternoon no less than fourteen varieties of the wild orchid. One sees here, growing in a perfectly wild state, flowers and plants which are highly treasured in hot-houses “at home,” and for which high prices are gladly paid. But it must be remembered that Western Australia is one gigantic, natural hot-house.
And now we have reached the weir at Mundaring. Here, situated in the midst of magnificent scenery, is the immense artificial reservoir, with its capacity for 4,600 million gallons of water. This enormous tank collects all the water of the district. From here it is pumped through a steel conduit by a series of eight pumping installations to the main distributing reservoir, 308 miles away; then by gravitation it descends to the two great goldfields at Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie. The engine plant is said to be the finest in the world. Of course, it was constructed in Great Britain. The entire cost of the scheme was £3,300,000, an enormous sum of money for fewer than 300,000 people to find for supplying water to two cities and the towns en route. The whole work was planned and consummated in five years. It ended in conferring a boon upon the people—or some of them—and in bringing tragedy to the chief engineer, who, worried beyond endurance with the criticisms passed upon his work, committed suicide.
We were happy in being able to see the reservoir when it overflowed with water, the surplus passing over the weir in a long, graceful sheet, thus joining the water of the river below. This living blind, incessantly being drawn down, dancing as it fell, offered a spectacle of rare beauty. Western Australia has good reason to be proud of its achievement in constructing this admirable piece of hydraulic engineering. It stands quite unique in the history of the world. Nothing else of a similar nature is on such a great scale.
The experiment has been successful, and it has pointed out the way in which one of the greatest difficulties in a desert country may be overcome. Sufficient water falls in the course of the year for all purposes. Hitherto it has run to waste, lacking a proper system of conservation and distribution. A great and generous increase of population would result in the extension of this system, so that what was formerly regarded as unredeemable land might become rich and productive country. For the natural wealth of the country is almost illimitable.