THE MIRACLE OF THE MALLEE
Let no man declare anything to be impossible until he has seen the
Mallee; he will then be in a position to affirm the reality of natural
miracle wrought with the co-operation of man; he will know that a
desert can blossom as the rose, and that the place where jackals lay
can become a glorious human habitation. I have just beheld this miracle
and now hasten to declare it.
The Mallee is an immense territory embracing about one-quarter of
the State of Victoria--that is to say, twelve millions of acres.
Until recent years it was regarded as a hopeless wilderness. In the
early ’eighties a Royal Commission was appointed to inquire into the
possibilities of this dreaded country. Their report was dismal to the
last degree. The wise and learned men declared that the aspect of the
country was that of a wilderness in the strictest sense of the word!
sand, scrub and mallee below, the scorching sun and blue sky above, and
not a sound of life to break the solemn silence. In a journey of 100
miles from north to south the Commission did not encounter a solitary
bird or a single living creature. The only evidence of animal life was
the barked stems of stunted scrub and bushes where the rabbit had once
fed, and the dead carcases of a few dingoes which the trappers had
snared or poisoned. As for water, all that could be discovered over an
area of a few thousands of square miles was a few native wells, a small
lagoon or two and one or two muddy water-holes. Throughout the entire
region there was no grass.
Such a country was pronounced to be hopeless, and more than once the
question was asked in Parliament: “Is the Mallee worth saving?”
It is a little difficult to convey to an English reader what is meant
by “scrub.” It must be seen to be understood. But some idea of it may
be gained if the reader can imagine an interminable country as big as
four or five of the largest English counties put together, and this
country covered with a dense undergrowth through which no man unaided
could possibly force his way. A country absolutely flat, with not so
much as a ghost of a hill to serve as a landmark. Not a track ever made
by human feet. Scrub so thick that a man passing into it even for a
short distance would need the device of a piece of string fastened to a
tree at the place of entrance and by means of which alone he could find
his way out again. That was the Mallee of forty years ago. More than
one man set himself the task of conquering this wilderness. In every
case he had to retire beaten. If he succeeded in clearing a space of
ground and planting upon it wheat or vegetables, or raising a few head
of sheep or cattle, down came the dingo and the rabbit from afar to
kill his lambs and consume his green crop, or, if he successfully armed
himself against these intruders, the heavens became his foe and refused
to shower down the kindly rain. Wild animals, vermin and drought--the
settler could not withstand them.
Then came a day when the Government erected a fence of wire netting
around an enclosed area of two hundred miles. That was to keep out
the dingo and the rabbit, and to give the new settlers a chance of
cultivating the ground. Then followed the discovery of water in the
heart of the country. Already sixty-three bores have been put down
which tap water in an area of 500,000 acres. Later a supply of water
has been drawn from the Grampian Hills, eighty miles away, and this is
conveyed by means of channels to various settlements in the Mallee.
Periodically the huge receptacles at the bottoms of the fields are
filled up by this supply. Then the farmers draw it upon their land.
The discovery of water in the interior, and the new supply from
the Grampians, have helped to solve the problem of the Mallee. The
country could not possibly exist upon its rainfall, which averages at
the best only fifteen inches per annum. Enclosure and water, then,
were the two primary elements in the transformation of this desert.
The final element was found in scientific farming. One grand secret
lies in frequent fallowing. The soil is so treated that it retains
its moisture. “Dry” farming is practised by many, and the results of
this process are remarkable. Senator McColl, who has made a special
study of this particular branch of agriculture, predicts that by
means of “dry” farming most of the difficulties of the Mallee will
yet be overcome. Barely twenty years have passed since the problem
of the Mallee was seriously attacked, and already a miracle has been
accomplished. This former desert now produces one-fifth of the entire
wheat crop of the State of Victoria, and it is claimed that Mallee
wheat is the best in the world. Where twenty years ago or less a
hundred acres of land would support only one sheep, to-day five sheep
are supplied by two acres. Land that was not worth giving away is now
valued at £5 per acre, and prices are rising. The Mallee promises to be
the Beulah Land of Victoria. Indeed, the people have become prophets in
naming one of their chief townships “Beulah.” At the first, the place
was named in faith, and when the great drought came “Beulah” seemed
to be a ghastly caricature of the actual situation. One poor settler,
crushed to the dust by misfortune, yet retained enough waggishness to
parody a well-known revival hymn thus:
“We’ve reached the land of drought and heat
Where nothing grows for us to eat;
For winds that blow with scorching heat
This Beulah land is hard to beat.
O Beulah land, hot Beulah land,
As on the burning soil we stand
We look away across the plains
And wonder why it never rains!”
That year of drought was terrible. Men were reduced to living on the
very minimum of rations. It was only a decade ago, but the recovery
has been phenomenal. As the years pass, science will lay for ever the
spectre of drought.
It was through this wonderfully fertile country that I had the
privilege of motoring in December, 1913. The experience was unique
in every way. The hospitality of the people was unbounded. In the
small towns there were banquets and receptions given in honour of
the “distinguished visitor.” Churches and halls were crowded for the
sermons and lectures. Farmers drove in by carriage and motor from every
point of the compass. An angel from heaven could not have been treated
more royally than was a preacher from Melbourne. To my amazement I
found in little far-away Beulah the electric light installed in every
house. The churches are beautiful little buildings. The streets of the
“town” are wide. The shops are modern. The houses are commodious and
comfortable. A year ago there was not a garden in the township: to-day
every house has a garden. A grass lawn springs up as by magic when once
water is laid on.
My tour consisted of an eighty-mile drive through one vast wheat
field. As far as the eye could reach in every direction the fields
were filled with ripening or ripened wheat. Fields! I said. And
what fields! Several of them extended for over half a mile in one
direction alone. Farming here _is_ farming. Land is measured by miles
rather than by acres. The whole process of reaping is modern. The
“complete harvester” is in general use over these immense fields. It
is a wonderful piece of machinery, completely superseding the old
methods of reaping, binding, stacking, etc. The “harvester” does
everything. It cuts the wheat, winnows it, fills up one bag with chaff
and another with wheat, while the driver moves across the vast space.
Automatically, the bags filled with grain are deposited at certain
intervals upon the field. When the “harvester” has been over the crop
there is nothing more to be done; the wheat is ready for exportation.
The perfect climate permits this complete process to be undertaken at a
stroke. The wheat is cut when quite ripe and quite dry. It never lies
in the fields to be sodden and spoiled by capricious rain, as is often
the case in England.
At this harvest season in the Mallee we tasted all the charms of a
perfect Australian summer climate. The eucalyptus was putting forth its
new, delicate tips of gold and brown--a perfect blend of bush colour.
The sky was a deep blue, unrelieved by a fleck of cloud. The air, dry
and hot, encompassed us like the breath of a generous oven in which
all manner of savoury things were yielding up their odours. This blend
of bush perfumes, liberated by the heat of the sun, has a character
all its own. The charm is completed by the extreme clearness of the
atmosphere, which creates many a sweet illusion of the landscape. On
these broad spaces the mirage is frequently seen. At least half a dozen
times we were tricked into believing that ahead of us lay a glorious
stretch of water, when all that awaited us was a particularly dry part
of the plain.
Despite the partition of the country amongst farmers, there is an air
of solitude in the Mallee that is at times depressing. During our
eighty miles run we encountered upon the highway only four living
beings, while on the morrow, we encountered not a single human being.
Life is confined to the farms-teads, which are scattered. Neighbours
are separated by several miles from each other. But these farm-houses
were the surprise of our journey. Not one of them is twenty-five years
old, yet we found in each the telephone installed. One farmer, at whose
generous table we lunched, has his own plant of air gas, and his house
is brilliantly illuminated at night. In every house we visited we
found a valuable piano: in one case it was a German instrument worth
over £100. These are the Mallee farmers who in twenty years or less
have compelled this wilderness to blossom as the rose, and who, as the
result, have furnished their houses in modern fashion, and with many
luxuries. I could not help contrasting many of the farms I know well
“at home” with these abodes of comparative luxury in the once desert of
Australia.
In some cases the primitive houses and the modern abodes stand side by
side. The former, built of rude pine blocks and covered with corrugated
iron, represent the struggle and the simplicity of the pioneer days:
the latter represent success and comfort. Most of these farmers are
deeply religious men. They have not allowed their motor-cars to cheat
them out of the old-fashioned Sunday. The churches are crowded on
Sundays, and it is quite a common sight to behold the chapel yard
filled with motors, buggies, cycles, and other means of locomotion.
Worshippers come for twenty miles to their central churches. And these
Mallee men have not allowed their prosperity to kill their native
generous sentiments. They are most generous towards their churches.
One small congregation raised £80 last year for foreign mission work.
A modification of the tithe system is in operation amongst these good
people. They give in “kind” as well as in money. So many bags per
hundred of wheat and oats are set aside for sale on behalf of Christian
work. It is a primitive but very effective method of giving.
There is another side to the picture. Away on the back blocks are men
and women who are more heathen than any persons in Fiji or Samoa.
A clergyman in the Mallee told me that he had visited people in
distant places of the Mallee who had not even seen a church for more
than eighteen years. These families grow up in complete ignorance of
religion. One child of twelve years of age was brought in to the “town”
to become a mother: later her sister, a child of fourteen, followed her
for the same purpose. My friend discovered that these children, brought
up amongst the animals, scarcely knew the name of God. Their moral
sense was unawakened. There are therefore drawbacks to a garden which
has sprung out of the desert.