Take a look out of the window; do you see those rocks, just to the north of Herm island? Six nautical miles. Even in bad weather, it is a trip of no more than forty minutes. With the current, you could probably swim it in a reasonable time. You would certainly be able to reach the island of Herm in less than thirty.

It was out there on those rocks where my boat, the Elicia, ran aground, and what I am about to tell you happened.

No doubt you have heard rumours about me. I will leave it to you to work out which ones are true and which are not – I hate to disappoint. On this occasion, however, you have the luxury of hearing it from the horse’s mouth.

I have friends in Spain who needed my help. Naturally not everyone is happy with the fact that I run guns – oh come on, do not act shocked that I admit this openly. Apart from a couple of old ladies in St.Malo, it must be one of the worst kept secrets around these parts. It is with the British Royal Navy that I have the most bother. They are always keen to stop me at every opportunity. They have the notion that I emptied out an armoury of theirs in Southampton. Ah – I see from the look on your face that you have heard that story.

Those Royal Navy chaps can put a shiner on a good day so I do my best to avoid them, which normally means moving at night; as indeed it was, when I was returning from my little mercy trip.

The Elicia was a Scottish wooden fishing trawler. The guise of being such a craft, I’m certain has helped many a time.

I was coming up from the south of Herm island, when I got a signal that there was a navy boat in dock. While it was the small hours and I had an empty cargo hold, as I said, the British can put a shiner on a good day. I decided instead to take my boat out of view of the harbour for the following reason: those Brits can be quite observant. While it would not be uncommon for them to see a fishing boat out at that time, it would be odd to see one without its nets out, ready to go, or without a hull full of fish.

A swell was beginning to build up as I went to put the crane arms out for the nets. It then all happened in a flash. There was a guide cable which ran through the pulley on the arm to a gear on the engine which, when engaged, should have pulled the nets along and out onto the arms. What happened however was that, less than a second from engaging the gear, I found myself hanging upside down with the bottom of my left leg oilskin trousers caught in the pulley.

I did not realise immediately, but my foot had been crushed in the pulley. I felt no pain at first, which I put down to adrenaline. I did try to reach up to the crane arm, but the swaying action from the swell made this nigh on impossible. I watched helplessly as the boat came stern-to onto those rocks.

Where the sun should have been rising in the sky, tall black clouds were forming. I knew no one would be venturing out today, and that any hope of being spotted was gone. Before the rain came, a wave, accompanied by a roar, dislodged the Elicia and began to thrash her about between the rocks. I could see through the centre hatch, she was beginning to take on water. It was then that I realised I was either going to be dragged down or be lambasted against the rocks.

On my belt I carry a knife – you will find most fisherman do. Perfect for geting the hook out of a fish, but not much else. I had a notion of trying to save as much as my leg as possible, and tried to haul myself up, to cut my leg above the ankle, but the sea had other ideas.

The first cut was the most painful. I had to muster considerable strength to get the knife to break the skin, and when it was no more than an inch in, a violent wave caused me to rip the knife upwards – that is pain.

I was going to light a cigarette as a distraction. Instead, I ended up biting down on the entire packet as blood, rain and seawater flowed down me.

It felt like great pockets of heat were escaping me, as I forced the knife crudely through the flesh. The tendons, while tough to cut, I do not remember causing me much pain. I was part fascinated and part distracted, as when cutting through one of them I felt the muscles in the back of my leg tighten then let go.

The Elicia was sitting below her water line by the time I got to the bone. The temperature had dropped and the heavens had joined in on my punishment. The packet of cigarettes had now become pulp, but it was a welcome distraction when the acrid nicotine filled my mouth as I began to saw.

I didn’t have to saw far, as a combination of my weight and the swaying did the rest. In the water, and the right way up, I felt my body began to drain. I don’t know how much blood I lost, but I have a vague memory of using my belt as a torniquet while I was in the water.

The next thing I remember was awakening on the beach of Herm, where I was rescued later that day. For those hours I was on the island, I watched the crane arm bob before finally vanishing – a moment I marked by mustering what strength I had left and burying the knife in the sand.