On the Fringe of the Harbor by John Arthur Barry

Few people who have not experienced it can form any idea of what life on an intercolonial steamer is like, or can conceive the tireless labor and vigilance that is required of those who work upon it, both fore and aft. On the deep water tramp, once clear of the land, matters settle down into a state of comparative comfort for both deck and engine room. Also, she generally has a fairly liberal margin of time, even when freighted; whilst, when looking for cargo, she simply dawdles along to save her bunkers. But with our larger class of coasters, carrying both passengers and cargo, things are very different. They are never clear of the land; they are timed like mailboats; and are run for all they are worth, through fair weather and foul alike; and with the result that some of the finest services afloat keep up our intercolonial communication between Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, the West, and all Tasmanian and New Zealand ports. But, especially on the shorter routes, the life is a terribly arduous and exacting one.

Take, for instance, a boat leaving Brisbane full of passengers and cargo for the south. Clearing Moreton Bay she perhaps finds herself in heavy weather, and with a big deck load that takes all hands half the night to secure, after having had to work cargo all the same day. Of course, the captain is up all night, and, as likely as not, all the next day, if the bad weather continues. Indeed, it may be fairly said that in such a case there is little or no rest for the executive except such as they can snatch like they do their food, in hurried snacks. That night, very late, perhaps, they grope their way up to the wharf in Sydney, and at once the hatches are off and the steam winches at work, for she is billed to start for Melbourne at noon the next day. And every hour of the day and night, almost, you may see one or other of these vessels steaming slowly in through the Heads, homeward bound from north or south, or going out to their ports up or down the coast, some bulking high and light, with sides like a factory wall, and their screws revolving amidst a white smother of foam; whilst others, more deeply laden, show but a streak of red or green bottom meeting the black top sides. Their funnels bear devices by which the initiate eye may at once know to whom they belong; deck space is limited, and, with the exception of an oasis aft for saloon passengers, is generally blocked by cargo winches and steam pipes; but, below, the first class accommodation is quite equal to that of the average ocean liner; electricity is generally installed throughout, smart stewards aboard, and in the engine-room you will find Scotch engineers and triple expansions.