What scenes of bitter quarrels these watering-places have witnessed!  The selfish striving, each to help himself, the awful sufferings of man and beast, horses and camels mad with thirst, and men cursing the country and themselves, for wasting their lives and strength in it; but they have witnessed many an act of kindness and self-denial too.

Where the now prosperous and busy town of Coolgardie stands, with its stone and brick buildings, banks, hotels, and streets of shops, offices, and dwelling-houses, with a population of some 15,000, at the time of which I write there stood an open forest of eucalyptus dotted here and there with the white tents and camps of diggers.  A part of the timber had already been cleared to admit of “dry-blowing” operations—­a process adopted for the separation of gold from alluvial soil in the waterless parts of Australia.

Desperate hard work this, with the thermometer at 100 degrees in the shade, with the “dishes” so hot that they had often to be put aside to cool, with clouds of choking dust, a burning throat, and water at a shilling to half a crown a gallon!  Right enough for the lucky ones “on gold,” and for them not a life of ease!  The poor devil with neither money nor luck, who looked into each dishful of dirt for the wherewithal to live, and found it not, was indeed scarcely to be envied.

Water at this time was carted by horse-teams in waggons with large tanks on board, or by camel caravans, from a distance of thirty-six miles, drawn from a well near a large granite rock.  The supply was daily failing, and washing was out of the question; enough to drink was all one thought of; two lines of eager men on either side of the track could daily be seen waiting for these water-carts.  What a wild rush ensued when they were sighted!  In a moment they were surrounded and taken by storm, men swarming on to them like an army of ants.  As a rule, eager as we were for water, a sort of order prevailed, and every man got his gallon water-bag filled until the supply was exhausted.  And generally the owner of the water received due payment.

About Christmas-time the water-famine was at its height.  Notices were posted by order of the Warden, proclaiming that the road to or from Coolgardie would soon be closed, as all wells were failing, and advising men to go down in small parties, and not to rush the waters in a great crowd.  This advice was not taken, and daily scores of men left the “field,” and many were hard put to it to reach Southern Cross.  It was a cruel sight in those thirsty days to see the poor horses wandering about, mere walking skeletons, deserted by their owners, for strangers were both unable to give them water, and afraid to put them out of their misery lest damages should be claimed against them.  How long our own supplies would last was eagerly discussed, as we gathered round the butcher’s shop, the great meeting-place, to which, in the evenings, most of the camp would come to talk over the affairs of the day.