Travels in Western Australia being a description of the various cities and towns, goldfields, and agricultural districts of that state — Themes and Context

arly suitable for vine culture. Her goldfields may in time be exhausted, her forests may be converted into timber, but the soil will always remain and vines will always grow as long as the sun shines to mature the grapes for wine to make glad the heart of man. Almond-trees also grow wonderfully well, and tons of almonds are sent every year from Katanning to different parts of the colonies.

One very great feature connected with fruit farming in Western Australia is that there are no fruit pests in the colony, no phylloxera, no codlin moth, and no nasty little fruit-fly to spoil the growth of things. Every care is taken that nothing of the kind shall be brought here from other places, all fruit being rigorously examined by experts before being passed by the Customs.

Seated behind a fast pair of Australian brumbys—(these horses, called by the natives Warrigals, are very hardy animals, and are well known to go longer distances without nourishment of any sort than any others of their kind; when proper food is unobtainable, they can subsist on the driest of spinifex grass, or scrub, and what would kill other horses does not seem materially to injure them)—I had a lovely drive over Mr. Piesse’s properties. One splendid field of wheat, 300 acres in extent, was a great sight. As far as the eye could reach this field, with its magnificent crop, waved before the breeze. We had passed the orchard with its acres of fruit-trees bending beneath the weight of fruit. Then we came to the vines with their rich and luscious grapes, then—a complete and charming change of scene—to the cornfield. On the far side of the field two waggons, each drawn by nine horses and laden with a tremendous load of produce of the glorious earth, were wending their way to the mill, which was seen in the distance on the other side. A forest of trees, white gum, York gum, and raspberry wood, sent a subtle perfume through the air. Opening a large white double gate (one of many), we drove right through the pretty cornfield, and one could imagine the feelings of Bobby Burns when he wrote his exquisite poem, “When the corn is waving, Annie dear.” Returning on the other side of the field, a pretty view is seen of the village of Katanning bathed in the golden sunlight.

We passed the model farm of Mr. Stanbury and came to Mr. Piesse’s splendid and most interesting mill: all the very newest machinery for turning the ripe corn into flour is here. I thought of our ancestors crushing wheat between stones, and watched the beautiful white stuff coming down the huge cylinders, automatically filling the corn sacks and coming to a dead stop when full, with no assistance from the human hand, while the man who had placed the sack on the cylinder stood by sewing up with twine the last one filled. The click came to notify that a bag was full; it was taken off, and another put on to go through the same process. Tons of refuse from the wheat were being thrown out, and on my asking what was done with it, Mr. Piesse said that it was given to the pigs. This splendid mill was built in 1891, but, in consequence of the rush to goldfields which broke out in 1893, lay idle for nearly two years, all the produce being wanted for chaff, which could not be cut quick enough for the demand.

A great deal of land-clearing is going on in the different selections, and it is interesting to see the forest devil or tree-puller at work. This operates by means of a chain placed round the tree and a lever worked by a man; in about 15 minutes a great tree will come up root and branch, and fall never to rise again.