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The Master of the Erik

by Steve Thompson

The moon danced on quiet seas as the Erik, two days out of her home port of St. John's, Newfoundland, steamed for Sydney, Nova Scotia. It was 1.30 a.m. on August 25, 1918, and Captain Jack Martin was asleep in his cabin. A slight westerly breeze caressed the faces of the three crew members on deck, able seamen Moriarity and Hopkins, and newly promoted third mate James Thompson. He was the duty officer, and had come out on deck for a breath of fresh air. Leaning over the rail, he sipped hot cocoa and listened to Moriarity.

"I hate these charters for the government of Newfoundland and I hate this bloody war. Sealing is what I signed on for, and sealing is what I want to get back to. How many seals did we get this year, I ask you?"

Hopkins took a drink from his mug.

"About 15,000, I heard. You can't seriously tell me you would prefer killing and skinning those creatures to the kind of duty you have on a charter like this!"

"Too right, I can. Why can't they let us earn our pay from sealing? We're risking our lives, with that bloody U-boat cruising these waters, and do we get danger pay? Not bloody likely."

Hopkins laughed at his shipmate and took a look through his glass before responding. "I thought so. It's not love of sealing, but fear of the Germans that had you worried. Give over! The season is nearly finished anyway. If we weren't out to sea on this job, we'd be paid off and sitting on our duffs in St. John's. I like the work, and the money."

Thompson agreed. "This will be the best year yet for us, you'll see. If James Baird's company makes extra money, we do too. Besides, the war has to be over soon and that submarine has likely gone home."

"Maybe so," Moriarity grumbled, "but Captain Martin must not be sure, else why does he have us on double shift lookout at nights?"