Torbay—Denmark Timber Mills—Mount
Barker—Katanning—Wagin—Narrogin—Beverly—York—Lovely Wildflowers.
Leaving Albany under more auspicious circumstances this time than when I
had left it by road, I took my seat in the train, my destination being
Denmark Mills, where I went to see a great timber station and Jarrah
Forest. On arrival at Torbay Junction, 9 miles from Albany, I left the
mail train and took the timber train, as the company, who own the Denmark
Timber Mills, have a private line running to that place; once seated
I was soon carried into the timber country. We passed through country
covered with boronia and other sweet flowers, and with Sheoak, Karri,
and Jarrah trees. We crossed the Hay river and came to Denmark Mill and
township. We were now in the thick of the Karri country, covered with
immense trees. The site of the township, covering 150 acres, has, of
course, been cleared, and there are many comfortable wooden and slab
cottages with nice gardens attached, giving a plentiful supply of fruit
and vegetables; as well as a good store, where everything appertaining
to housekeeping can be obtained. No liquor is allowed to be sold at the
mill on account of the dangerous nature of the occupation, consequently
this is a model township. There are several coffee-houses, and, in spite
of their enforced sobriety, the men seem to be very jolly and happy. An
enormous stack of timber was ready to be shipped to Colombo, and the men
were at work cutting more, as the enormous demand for Western Australian
wood keeps the workmen busy night and day, working in relays. The line
train wound round the hills in picturesque fashion, until we came to
a valley which looked more picturesque still, but rather dangerous to
cross in a timber-train. Here the flying fox or aerial tram is used to
bridge the steep part and to carry small timber. I was glad I did not
venture down into the valley, for I was afterwards told that it was not
an infrequent occurrence for the timber-trucks, and occasionally the
engine also, to leave the line, and as the trucks are of the roughest
description, consisting merely of four wheels and a platform, and are
loaded with immense logs, the passenger can only travel on the engine,
or on the “dummy,” which is a special truck placed immediately behind
the engine to keep it from being damaged in case some huge log, weighing
perhaps 20 tons, should slide forward in the course of a descent. It is
difficult to give an idea of the size of the gigantic Karri-trees here.
One which I saw was quite hollow, and a bullock team drove right through
it with perfect ease. In returning to the town I saw another large
quantity of battens or pickets waiting to be shipped for London to fence
two large cemeteries. Enormous fires are always burning in the town to
consume the great heaps of waste from the mills. A pile, about 120 feet
high, was waiting to be burned, and it did seem a pity that good wood
should be reduced to ashes merely to get it out of the way. A scheme for
shipping the refuse of the mills to America for conversion into paper has
lately been mooted.
[Illustration: THE HOMESTEAD, KENDINUP STATION]
[Illustration: Hauling Logs at the Mills]
The Karri-trees, grow to a height of 300 feet, with a circumference of
from 20 to 30 feet. From one Karri-tree alone 100 tons of timber have
been cut. Karri is also called _Eucalyptus collossea_ or _diversicolor_,
the latter name denoting the difference between its leaves and those
of other eucalypti. The timber is impervious to damp. I was shown a
block cut from a log that had been buried forty-six years in moist
earth, and it was perfectly sound. For mining, harbour works, railways
and street-paving the wood is unequalled, and is now greatly used in
different parts of London, notably in paving Charing Cross, where traffic
goes on at the rate of 402 omnibuses every hour; and in Paris the Rue
Lafayette and Rue Château d’Eau are also paved with our famous Australian
woods. This particular wood is preferred for street-paving because it is
safer for horse traffic than other kinds; observations taken by Colonel
Hayward, late City Engineer of London, have shown that horses might be
expected to travel over 446 miles of Karri road without accident. On
Westminster Bridge, London (south side), the Jarrah paving has lasted
for seven years. This wood is also being used all over the world for
jetty piles; some enormous ones, 90 feet in length, were waiting at the
train-shed to go to Albany, where thirty vessels are under charter to
take the timber away to South Africa, South America, India, &c. There
is another very large karri district which I mean to visit; I must not
therefore exhaust all I have to say about karri timber here, but pass
on, leaving behind Denmark Mill with its 20,000 acres of forest, where
the manager told me over two million loads of timber were waiting to be
cut down. Mr. Millar also owns very large jarrah forests, the Wagerup of
35,000 acres, and the Mornington, 55,000 acres, and employs upon them a
very large staff of workmen.
Returning next day to Torbay Junction, I caught the mail-train and
continued my travels, passing thousands of acres of land waiting for
selectors. Stopping at Mount Barker, 28 miles from Torbay, I visited the
homestead of Mr. Somnes, the land around which was first cultivated over
40 years ago by Mr. Somnes, senior, now 90 years of age, and many of the
fruit-trees, though planted so long ago, are still bearing good crops of
fruit. Over 55 acres of fruit-trees of different kinds, bearing lovely
fruit, testify to the excellence of the soil. Two thousand apple-trees
seem to be specially prolific. In another part of the Mount Barker
district, Mr. Miller’s estate, comprising more than 5000 acres, has a
fine orchard of over 6000 fruit-trees of all descriptions. Two other
orchards, not quite so large but with much exquisite fruit, are not
far off, and the old homestead of St. Werbergs, where the late Colonel
Warburton resided, is a place of much interest. In addition to fruit, the
necessary potato and onion are being cultivated, and in some cases yield
very largely per acre. It was my intention to stay at Katanning, as I
wished to see the much-talked-of orchard and vineyard of the Hon. F. H.
Piesse.
It being night when I arrived, I could not see what the place was like,
but in the morning light I found it a most charming little village.
A great deal of land has recently been taken up by selectors; during
last year over 1500 applications were made for homesteads and farms
on conditional purchase, and many more for pastoral leases and town
and suburban lots. The harvest returns here are very satisfactory, 15
bushels of wheat to the acre being the average. Many farmers are coming
over from the other colonies to select land for farms, as well as people
from England and other countries. The Katanning area contains 100,000
acres, so there is plenty of room for many farms and orchards. Assisted
passages are granted from England to intending farmers and agriculturists
and their families, also to single women and widows. They can come to
this colony by only paying £8 5_s._ towards their passages. These people
must, however, be approved by the Agent-General, Hon. Henry Bruce Lefroy,
in London (15 Victoria Street, Westminster, S.W.), from whose clerks
intending passengers can get any necessary information by writing to ask
for it. On arrival in Western Australia the new-comer will be afforded
every assistance by the Government land-agents who are stationed in the
principal towns.
The orchards and vineyards of Mr. Piesse are really wonderful. There are
65 acres of fruit-trees, bearing all kinds of fruit of exquisite flavour,
some of the pears weighing over 2 lb. each, and the peaches, apricots,
and apples of equal size and beauty. The apples grown here are famed for
their size, sweetness, and flavour.
There were acres and acres of vines loaded with large and luscious
grapes, the purple ones, with their lovely bloom, offering a picture to
the eye as well as refreshment to the palate. The cost of clearing land
in this district is only from 35s. to £3 per acre, so that any one with
small capital could soon have an orchard or farm of their own. The day is
evidently not far distant when Western Australia will not only produce
sufficient for all her own requirements, but, being nearer the European
markets by several days’ journey than the other colonies, will be able
to supply the markets of the outside world with her fruits, especially
grapes, the soil in some parts being particularly 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.
[Illustration: Ready for Cross-cutting, Denmark Mills]
Resuming my journey next morning, I once more sped on by train through
the flower-scented country, passing Wagin, Narrogin, famous for oranges;
Pingelly, and Beverley (all rich agricultural country). Here we partook
of a very good repast, this being the place where many Perth passengers
break the journey when going to Albany, or _vice versâ_; then, after a
further run of 20 miles, we stopped at the pretty little town of York, on
the banks of the Avon river. It nestles in a valley almost surrounded
by green hills, and as I walked across the bridge, built of jarrah-wood,
that spans the pretty river, I thought I had never seen a more pastoral
or a prettier place. The town is in two parts, one each side of the Avon,
which is crossed by three bridges. The pale yellow fields of corn, the
pretty houses on the hillsides, the beautiful cattle grazing, and the
fruit growing in profusion in the various gardens and orchards, make a
charming picture. Quantities of sandal-wood grow close to the town, and
constitute a valuable industry; the jam-wood also thrives well, and the
scent of it makes one imagine oneself in the vicinity of a raspberry-jam
factory. The headquarters of Parker’s Eucalyptus Distillery are here. The
distillery is at Dangin, about 40 miles off, where the beautiful fruits
that grow at York are preserved by the same firm, and are quite tempting
to look at and exquisite to taste. Farming is very advanced in York.
I was shown some wheat from a farm, a portion of a crop that yielded
32 bushels per acre. The farmers employ the very latest improvements
in machinery, and say that, though expensive at first, they find these
cheaper in the end, the expense of working the land being greatly reduced
by using the newest strippers, &c. It speaks well for the productive
capacity of the district that 24,000 bushels of splendid wheat were
waiting, at the Empire Milling Company’s storehouse, to be turned into
flour.
Driving from York to Greenhills, through the Avon valley, I passed Mr.
Jesse Scott’s magnificent farm. Imagine a cornfield, or, I should say, a
succession of cornfields, of 450 acres, on some parts of which the oats
had attained the height of 7 feet. These portions of the fields would
yield 60 bushels to the acre, and the whole 450 acres would average 35
bushels per acre. It was, indeed, a magnificent sight. On other parts of
Mr. Scott’s property rye, buffalo, and prairie grass were making great
progress, while 12 acres were planted with vines.
[Illustration: YORK]
The tanning industry is well represented. I saw splendid samples of plain
and fancy leather when visiting Mr. Hay’s factory; one enormous side
weighed 39 pounds, kangaroo skins are also tanned and make a beautiful
shiny leather. Kangaroo meat is eaten here, although beef and mutton are
plentiful. Many people seem to prefer “Roo” steak. I confess I was rather
surprised at breakfast to hear the waiter, in reading the menu, mention
the latter dish. I did not test it, but at dinner tried kangaroo-tail
soup, and found it really excellent. The much-esteemed Roman Catholic
priest, Father Gibney, brother of Bishop Gibney, lives in York, and also
has a pretty little place (which is his hobby) called Springfield, about
three miles out. The Rev. Father has hundreds of fruit-trees of different
kinds, and quite an orangery. I brought away several branches with eight
or nine oranges on each as mementoes of my very pleasant visit. There
are some good buildings, a fine Post Office, Mechanics’ Institute,
Court-house, and some handsome churches, as well as many good shops. York
is one of the oldest Western Australian towns, and enjoys the distinction
of being the place where the first official execution took place in
1840. The wife of a settler, Mrs. Cook, and her infant, were murdered
by aborigines during the absence of her husband. The murderers escaped
into the Bush, and were only brought to justice through a tribal quarrel
which resulted in some natives betraying them. They were conveyed to the
scene of their crime and hanged in chains, in the presence of a large
gathering of natives. Up to this time there was an impression amongst the
natives that an absence in the bush, long or short, absolved them from
punishment. This execution dispelled any idea of that kind which they may
have entertained, and taught them a wholesome lesson.
A very well-known person in early times was called the Duke of York. He
used to go between Perth and York in a little cart carrying goods, not
least of which was a keg of rum, the virtues of which would have been
even more warmly appreciated if the old fellow had left it in its natural
state, and not mixed so much _aqua pura_ with it. His descendants have
risen in the world, and in place of the keg of rum of their ancestor have
now bonded stores of large extent.
On leaving York _en route_ for Perth the train journey was rendered
delightful by the beautiful carpet of wild and many-coloured flowers on
each side of the line. As the train sped past the idea struck me that
these flowers—lovely immortelles, white, pink, and yellow, growing in
countless millions—could be turned to good account. Conversing with a
Westralian (white) native in the train, I find such a thing had never
been thought of, and what could be made a source of wealth by some
energetic people seems here hardly to be noticed. Thousands of crosses,
wreaths, anchors, screens, fans, and other decorations could be made
of these flowers, and would, I am sure, command a ready sale on the
Continent, especially in France, where there is such a love of flowers
for ceremonial purposes. At present, like the boronia, which usually
seems to waste its sweetness on the desert air, they appear to be not
much admired, except by people travelling through the country, who
cannot fail to be impressed, like myself, by their beauty. For perfumery
purposes, the little coffee-coloured boronia must have a great future
before it, as well as the lovely immortelles. My friend in the train
said, “I don’t think they are much good.” He put me in mind of the
soldier, a good many years ago, who, on the defeat of Parses the Persian,
found a bag of shining leather filled with pearls. Not knowing their
value, he threw them away, but kept the leather bag, saying, “What was of
no use could be of no value.”
[Illustration: Moirs’ Buildings]