Report: Charleston Voyage Journal
by Joan Burke
August 9 - August 19, 1998

his journal is dedicated to Thomas William Tickner, 1923 - 1998

9 August 1998

2330

So ends my first day at sea It was a hot day and it's still very hot in the deckhouse, but not as hot as the air venting from the engine room. The waning moon, full only a few nights ago, rises, giving light and conversation to those out on deck to avoid the heat inside. I want to prolong this day until I can't.

Ella and I went forward to the bow, our way lighted only by the moon, to observe the starboard bow wave. There, on the dark side of the hull, we marveled at the brilliance of the luminescent sea creatures. We are still in the Chesapeake Bay, and I wonder if the creatures will wink and blink their annoyance once we are in the Atlantic. The sky is full of stars; you can see the Milky Way out here.

Just before sunset we passed the AMERICAN MARINER, a rusting hulk made even more golden brown by the slanting rays. Herk Esibill, the purser, advised me to go topside if I wanted to see a sunken Liberty. She sits aground some few miles or more from where we passed her. A modified Liberty, she appears to have been used for target practice, with what looks like gaping holes in her port hull plates. With binoculars I thought she looked run aground, not sunken. Later I learned she was sunk onto the top of yet another ship. At first glance from this distance, one might mistake her for a northbound vessel, but the binoculars revealed the truth, a sad remnant of the ships that rescued many merchant fleets and fortunes after the War. She reminded me of the JAMES LONGSTREET, run aground in Cape Cod Bay decades ago for target practice. Well, the LONGSTREET is gone now, too, since the April Fools' Day blizzard of 1997.

This is all a totally unfamiliar experience, particularly for most women. It isn't part of our female cultural memory. I have no reference points. Women didn't go to sea (unless they married the captain). They tended the home and waited; sometimes they waited in vain.

I will now mention the heat, which continued unabated throughout the voyage (especially in Charleston), until we returned to the Chesapeake Bay. I was hot, sticky, wet and miserable by the time I finished stowing my gear.

Why would anyone choose this life? Imagine the conditions on a 19th century whaler during the processing! Then that evening as I stood in the bow seeking the breeze, I knew. Listen to the chunk-a, chunk-a, chunk-a, of the reciprocating engine. Know you have a fine tried and tested ship beneath you. See the phosphorescent creatures light up the foam churned up as the bow knifes through the water. Smell, no FEEL, the sea air. Watch the lights on the distant shore wink out as they fall behind you. Look ahead and see the endless expanse of water. This is why.

10 August 1998

1400

I'm sitting on the port side boat deck to catch the welcome breeze and enjoy the shade as I write. We're pretty far off the coast now, to avoid the Diamond Shoal off Cape Hatteras. The Cape Hatteras Light has fallen behind us now, no longer visible. There are only a couple of other craft in sight both under sail, several miles away.

By now, being here aboard this ship seems the most normal thing in the world, not extraordinary in the least. Unlike the stories I have heard about boredom at sea, I have plenty to see and think about. I am seldom bored in any way, and certainly not on this trip. The weather is perfect for sailing, although not for sleeping or laboring. The sky is sunny with big, high, puffy clouds. I hope my pictures turn out, though they won't do justice to reality.

1410

Porpoises off the port side! The cry goes out, I leap up, see them and dash for the camera. Now they are to port, traveling almost perpendicular to our course. They weren't interested in us, we merely got in their way and they swam under us. A small pod of maybe a half-dozen individuals. I vow to keep camera and glasses closer when not working. Maybe there will be another opportunity. So far today the sea was very calm, almost glass. Whoever said that the journey was more important than the destination was definitely on to something.

They have announced that, at 1500, we will have an afternoon at the beach, Number Four Starboard Beach, that is. A hose and shower are rigged on the boat deck above to spray sea water on those below, a good way to cool off.

Securing the ship for sea last night was a hot job. My simple task was to stand by the opening in the #2 'tween decks hatch to #2 lower hold to keep people from falling into it. I did what I could to assist the process and wished I knew enough to do more, but they also serve who stand and wait by the hole through the hatch cover. When this is finished, I think I'll get the glasses, go topside, and look at anything within range.

The ocean's surface appears to be crisscrossed with 'trads,' sections of surface smoother than the surrounding surfaces. Like land with its ravines and hills, the ocean surface is not featureless. Here and there are large schools of small fish; the surface seems to boil as each frantically swims to remain in the center of the group. (And to think for this I gave up sitting in a stuffy, air conditioned office writing code no one will use in a year or so.) The sea's color is difficult to describe, a deep yet brilliant teal blue, almost translucent. It reminded me of the water just off the coast of Barbados.

1500

Time to check out the action at the Beach. Patty is really getting into the spirit of it, donning a colorful swimsuit and taking her beach chair, umbrella and novel with her as she sets up to bask on top of #4 cargo hold. Not having a suit with me, I think I'd just photograph the scene. How would you be to do this for a living? The shower is repeated every afternoon while at sea.

11 August 1998

1100

What a night! It must have been close to 100 degrees in our cabin. I woke at least three times from the heat. We got a backdraft of hot air venting from the engine room skylights all night. So Ella and I finally took folding chairs and sat out on the boat deck, our 'promenade" as we dubbed it, and had an 0400 snack. We then secured a fan to blow air out through the porthole; that may have lowered the temperature five degrees or so. After half an hour we went back to bed and eventually, to sleep. At least Ella did; she slept through breakfast!

On the boat deck again, I notice the sea has changed color, from brilliant blue to green, a sign we are in shallower waters. We must be over the coastal shelf approaching the mouth of the Cooper River. I'm told that on a bright sunny day, the deeper the water, the bluer it gets. There is also a lot more of a breeze here than our speed can account for. Here and there I see whitecaps. I heard we passed through a rain squall during the night. Must have been way before 0400, because it was dry when we had our snack. No unusual rolling motion woke me. Only the heat broke my slumber.

We are due in Charleston by 1800, 1 think. The harbor pilot should come on board around 1 1/2 hours prior. I spent a good bit of the day doing some routine shipboard stuff - like preparing discharges for the crew leaving the ship in Charleston. There are about six of them not sailing back but they will be replaced by others.

The Chief Steward has paid us the compliment that the female crew members are about the hardest workers on the ship. Chief Cook Norma Brown (and no, she and Ralph don't own the BROWN) gets up at 0430 daily to start breakfast. My money is also on the engine room gang. How they can stay down there in that heat for even four hours I can't imagine.

It is almost too windy out there to write. The pad I am using keeps threatening to rip the sheets off the spiral. As it turns out, this is the most breeze we will have until we return to the Chesapeake.

So far my duties are not strictly defined by time and place. The engine room guys go four hours on, eight hours off, and there are three gangs. In this climate, the engine room tops 100 degrees easily most of the time. This makes me think of the conditions you read about on 19th century whaling ships. We have it easy in comparison.

The sky has turned hazy and the horizon is not well defined. I have seen no sign of land since yesterday, and I don't care. We all trusted these men with our lives when we came aboard, and the ship is a fine old lady. (Besides, it's the wrong season and too far south for icebergs.)

At times it seems 59 people are not enough to do everything. Of course, we have tasks peculiar to our mission as a living museum, and the resulting upkeep not found on regular cargo ships. Plus, the 59 person crew limit is a Coast Guard restriction. She carried near to one hundred of crew and Armed Guard during the War.

Just announced at 1515 we will test the whistle and general alarm. It is 1513; wait for it. We wouldn't want to discover a problem with the whistle when we need it in Charleston. The sound is deafening - yep, they both work. Lord, but this is an odd way to spend a vacation. The trip is more than I had hoped. But it has become too windy to write more.

14 August 1998

2130

Three days since I had time to write - an eon. I slept until 0800 this morning, late for me. The past two days were busy ones in the store and then last night Herk and I went ashore, where we ran into Danny (another shipmate) and found a classy watering hole only after waiting half an hour to use a pay phone. Evidently, a significant number of Charlestonians don't have homes or cell phones to call from. The first four pay phones we found were each in use (and not by women, either). Anyway, we found a nice cool bar/restaurant, but the kitchen had just closed, and they didn't even have bar munchies. But we were 'in the cool' as they say in Charleston, so we made the most of it.

There are some porpoises in the harbor. On the way to Patriot's Point on Wednesday, we spied a mother and calf. At night you ran go forward, away from the noise of the generator, and hear them exhale when they surface.

A brief mention of the food on this ship; in a word, excellent. Norma and the other cooks outdo themselves every day. Many thanks also to John Manos, Chief Steward. For the most part I approve of his selections. And the ones, I don't - so what?

On Wednesday the Chief Mate, Rick Bauman, was unexpectedly called back to Baltimore. His mother is ill. George Maier is now Chief Mate. The ship's computer is in the shop, so Rick brought his on board for the trip. He set it up to do all our crew badges in color and showed me how to do it. Which came in handy, as a couple of folks wanted different titles on theirs and George Maier now needs a new title after Rick's departure. I promise to take good care of the system in his absence.

Then this afternoon we had a death in the family, the S.S. JOHN W. BROWN family. Thomas Tickner, whom everybody called 'Tinker,' crossed the bar after suffering heart failure during a stress test. Tommy was taken ill on the street a couple of nights ago, and was administered CPR by Ray Lewis, another crew member. The hospital could not revive him.

I didn't have a chance to know Tommy. He offered to take a picture of us with my mother's camera when I came aboard at Solomon's Island. All speak well of him and say he was quite a character, always ready with a joke. We hope to return with his ashes and bury him off Cape Hatteras, near where some of his former shipmates rest since World War II when their ship was torpedoed. Approval for these arrangements is being sought from his family in England.

I hope when my time comes it is after doing something I believe in, not before I get to do it. Tommy came over from Surrey, England, to make this trip and lay a wreath for his lost shipmates. Now we hope to send him back to them. So, I hereby dedicate this inadequate account of my experiences to Thomas William Tickner, Order of the Ancient Mariners.

The store is over 90 degrees by noon; the air conditioner is not powerful enough for this heat, nor for a door opening literally hundreds of times into the hot, humid air of #2 'tween decks. But Ella and I have a good time talking with the customers and flirting with the Navy, Armed Guard and merchant marine veterans, who also seem to be having a good time. These two days have been very hard work. And I'd do it all again.

And this trip is such a success! You can just feel it. I notice it most particularly when I go on deck for a break and some air, you can almost touch the good feeling and hospitality of Charleston. We should do this again some year ... in April. The nuclear powered cruiser USS SOUTH CAROLINA just passed us and fired her guns in salute, then reversed course as she drew even with Patriot's Point and sailed away, to be decommissioned, I heard.

17 August 1998

1845

We just finished saying a Rosary for Tommy Tickner. About a dozen or so attended the service held on the bow due to the heat in the chapel. Not all were Catholic but their presence was prayer enough. At the end our leader said he knew that the Blessed Mother had just taken Tommy to Jesus. It was truly humbling, to stand on a ship's deck, far from land, nothing but the sea, sky, and the wishes of those present for their departed friend. I thought, this moment will never come again. This is as it should be. Tommy's funeral service is tomorrow, and we shall bury his ashes at sea, near his former shipmates, near the final resting place of the S.S. MARGOT and crew, on which Tommy first sailed at age 17.

By now we must be in the Gulf Stream. This afternoon I watch flying fish scatter from our bow wave. Even with the numerous ships that ply the ocean, I wondered if we still might be the first ship these creatures had ever encountered. The sun will he setting within the hour, yet the sea retains its brilliant blue of midday as it slips along beneath us. My thoughts go to tomorrow, when we will return Tommy to the element he loved.

In less than two days, I will be back home. It will be good to have the rest of the week off. The office seems so far from here and reality. This is real. Today Ella took me on a tour of the shaft alley. Sounds like a good name for a neighborhood lounge, doesn't it? At first, it was too dark to see well. Then my eyes adjusted and I saw the low, narrow tunnel that seemed to go on forever. At the end of it the ship's hull abruptly narrowed and I realized we were at the stern. A vertical ladder disappears into the darkness above us, to the Armed Guard quarters area. There are stories of the Armed Guard men using the shaft alley in very bad weather to reach the deckhouse with its galley and other facilities. Not for the tall, the large, or the claustrophobic, with the shaft spinning round just inches away, and the ship rolling and pitching to boot.

Ray Witt (co-author of The Gallant Ship Stephen Hopkins) asked if I could prepare a list of Tickner's personal effects on the computer, which I agreed to do. I only wish I could have done something more. It seems to me that most humans have lost all sense of scale. We build mansions and sky scrapers. We cross the Atlantic now in a matter of hours. Yet the little bit of ocean I saw is so vast we might as well have been a thousand miles offshore instead of thirty-five miles. The sea is still calm, with a slight breeze from starboard. Not enough to cool out the deckhouse, I'm afraid.

1920

#3 'tween deck isn't yet secured for the night. I may go below and get some work done on the discharges - after the sunset!

18 August 1998

1130

A short time ago we buried Thomas William Tickner off Diamond Shoal, near Cape Hatteras. The simple box was adorned with the Red Duster, which will will be sent to Tommy's family in England. The ship's Chaplain, The Rev. Ra(mon) Reno, conducted a touching service, with Scripture readings that have been adapted to the sailor's vernacular. Tommy's shipmates then committed his ashes to the deep. At this, the ship's whistle emitted three blasts, signifying the final dismissal from station. After a few minutes, we had a second burial service, this time for one of Project Liberty Ship's members, David Mass.

Tommy had arranged for a wreath to lay for his shipmates on the S.S. MARGOT. The crew of the BROWN fulfilled his wishes after both services. One of the crew arranged to pick up the wreath in Charleston. Now, we placed it for Tommy as well. A brief, simple ceremony, of which I will not speak further. Fred Rasmussen and Ernie Imhoff of the Baltimore Sun will do that. On vacation, they came aboard in Charleston as crew. (I have trouble every time I think of this duo. I want to call them Bert and Ernie, after Sesame Street.)

They had planned to write a story of the father-daughter crew members making this trip: Ray and Beth Lewis. They soon learned that Ray and Beth were just one of several families aboard. The Jerbi family, all four of them, met the ship in Charleston. Diane went back Sunday on the bus, but Lou and his two sons are returning on this cargo steamer. And there's Ralph and Norma Brown, once asked if the ship belonged to them - well, they're both named BROWN, right? Norma is the Chief Cook and I'm here to tell you, the food on this ship is delicious! Herk Esibill's grandson David was aboard for Solomon's Island but was not able to do the rest. David is one of the best workers I have ever seen. Maybe in 2000, David.

Earlier today I prepared a list of Tommy's personal effects. Herk had been given the list prepared by Ray Witt, Bill McClernan, and our Chaplain, Rev. Reno. So, I just typed it up in a nice-looking font, organized it to make it easy to read, and set up so all three could sign it. Poor Tommy! They say he had a lot of medicines. I think he suspected his time was short and this voyage might be his last, and a last chance to honor his mates from World War II. Ray seemed genuinely touched with the finished product. You learn quickly on board ship that the rest of the crew is all you have, and each needs the other to remain in good spirits and to reach port safety.

Godspeed, Thomas William Tickner.

2300

The Chesapeake Bay pilots came aboard off Virginia Beach about 2100 via the Jacob's ladder. The pilot boat kept exact pace with the BROWN; you would have thought the two were joined. Then they were separate, and the pilot boat continued on to the large container ship that had been dogging us for some time. A short time ago the wind picked up and intensified as we passed through/over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel.

19 August 1998

0800

I awoke at 0700 to find us past the Calvert Cliffs Nuclear Power Plant and a Bay covered with whitecaps. Not that they affect a ship of the BROWN's stature. She just kept steaming along as she always has and, please God, always will. I remember awaking during the night (as I had at least once each night from all the liquid I consumed to combat the heat) and thinking, 'my skin's not wet, not even damp.' For the first time since Solomons Island, the air was cool and dry. The Bay was welcoming the BROWN home again.

Larry Knapp, one of the mates, estimated we would throw the first line at 1308. (As it happened, he was only a few minutes off.) At any rate we are well ahead of schedule - a very good run for the BROWN.

And so ends my adventure.

Postscript

Fred and Ernie's article from the trip appeared in the Baltimore Sun August 23, 1998. It was a very touching story of Thomas Tickner's final voyage.

Since I returned four days ago I have twice imagined I could feel the ship rolling beneath me. Since I was reading lying down at the time, this cannot be attributed to any dizziness but only to the memory of lying awake in my bunk at night as the ship plied her way through the darkness. Just last night I was awakened by voices outside. For a moment before fully awakening I thought I was on watch in Charleston, looking over the port side at the pier below, seeking the cause of the disturbance.

I decided I am ready to do it again, hot weather not withstanding. Perhaps if the BROWN does go to the Great Lakes in 2000, I can be part of the voyage. I have never been on a modern cruise ship and now have less desire than ever to travel on one. Nothing could measure up to my first voyage. (Now a windjammer cruise - that's something else!)

Those ten days will always be with me. I was able to slip into a way of life that is almost gone now. And loved it. The BROWN has no recreational facilities to speak of, no crew lounge (now there's a project for the Scouts!), no library except the historical collection and that area is secured while underway. I visited a culture unknown to most people. With developing technology, everything has changed. Containerized shipping makes cargo ships like the BROWN obsolete in most of the modem day ports. What a pity. A hundred years hence, people will look at the BROWN much as we do the CONSTELLATION, unable to imagine what it must have been like. Well, for ten days, I knew.

So, I take with me memories of new friendships, unforgettable characters, missed opportunities, starlit nights, porpoises frolicking in the harbor at Charleston, luminescent sea life, the chunk-a, chunk-a, chunk-a sounds of the engine, spectacular solitude, and a sense of wonder. For ten days, I was among those who go down to the sea in ships.