Perhaps leaving the Frenchman on the helm was a mistake. The weather was closing in so I had insisted, to one or two muted grumbles, that the crew put on their life vests and harnesses. At that point they still respected my authority and the grumbles were the limit of their rebellion so, once everyone was safely attached I turned to the Charles and tried to keep my instructions simple.

"Keep the bearing on oh-four-five degrees, or thereabouts, ok?" He mouthed his consent, giving me the cheeky gallic smile that I had learned was his trade mark. "Failing that, any direction away from the island would be good." He simply grinned in response as I staggered around the deck table and over to the hatch. I took one last glance at the nearby island before I went below.

The chart showed that it was an island that had emerged from the depths only a few years before but there was already a thick covering of verdant vegetation. From my scant reading in advance of the cruise I knew that more islands were regularly emerging, enlarging the Tongan kingdom. That was pretty much the extent of my knowledge of the area, but it had impressed the crew, all but the seemingly omniscient journalist.

I lowered myself carefully down the hatch, another worried glance at Charlie which was rewarded with a smile displaying every single one of his teeth. A rum crew, easily impressed it would seem, but that was a relief because I was only newly endorsed as a commercial skipper and this was my first proper paid job. I had been incredibly lucky to land it as well, a friend of my father's breaking his arm in a freak car accident only days before he was due to fly out to familiarise himself with the yacht.

A gorgeous yacht she was too, the nicest I had ever been aboard, an Oyster 82, almost 25 metres in length, displacing over 60 tons from her sexy blue hull. Dancing like a temptress upwind, she sang like a nightingale downwind. She brought the joy back into sailing after the ordeals of my examinations. Which was a good job, because not even the exquisite scenery of the South Pacific would have made me endure my rum crew if I hadn't had command of such an exquisite yacht.?I slid down the gangway, dropping into the plush seat at the chart table and flicking the chart plotter on. Never hurts to check your position, and my employers had been very pedantic about the exact itinerary. I caught the sound of snoring as I double checked the sat nav and marked off the latitude and longitude on the chart. Trevor, the oldest of the "crew" was having a snooze in the saloon, head propped against his waterproof. He seemed to have struggled with seasickness much worse than the others in the first few days and had taken more tablets than I recommended, consigning him alternately to dozing in the saloon or the toilet. A real shame because he seemed the nicest of the prize winners, not to mention the journalist.

Satisfied by the accuracy of my position I rose to find my life jacket, aware that the bad weather could be just a brief blow but the advice of my first instructor ringing in my ears. Slow, steady and safe. I owed that old chap a great deal and paid his every word the respect it was due. We were keeping well to the course set to my employers, a rigidity of instruction that took away a small amount of the joy of the yacht, a little closer to the island than I would have preferred. If the weather took a turn for the worse I would move out into deeper water, regardless of their strict requirements to give the passengers a good view of the islands.

The boat rolled jerkily, buffeted by a heavier swell as I moved towards the cabinet for my jacket, but I had regained my sea legs and just bobbed with the roll, extending my arms so that every limb formed a point of contact. I noticed that the kettle was on, Trevor must have been making a cuppa soup when he dozed off, and turned off the gas without waking him before resuming my course.

There was the clattering of canvas from above and I suddenly heard raised voices as my body told me there was more than just vertical motion. I moved swiftly to the hatch, climbing up to see that the clouds had darkened substantially, that Charlie had completely ignored my last warning and that we were heading towards the land whilst the Frenchman seemed to be having a heated debate with Robert, the stocky Mancunian who always seemed to better despite never having stepped onboard a boat with sails before.

"What are you doing?!" My voice came out in a roar, as I let the anger through, giving an edge of authority to my usual reticence. I physically pushed Charlie to one side and spun the wheel away from the islet.

"The wind…" he tried to explain but, although the wind had backed slightly due to the oncoming squall, there was no way that could explain Charles's sharp jibe. Frustrated by the Frenchman's inability to communicate, Robert ?interrupted the explanation.

"He pointed upwind too much, I tried to point out he was going off course but he over-corrected and then started trying to blame me." Charlie almost exploded at this point, clearly understanding well enough and spouting some French that I am sure would have been more at home on a football pitch than the deck of my vessel. I glanced up at Ellie, the journalist, thinking that her observations may finally come in useful, but she gave me a shrug as though to indicate that I was the skipper and it was my problem.

At first I had thought that I would have some empathy with Ellie, both being the only people onboard who had to work rather than enjoy blessed prizes, not to mention her rather attractive physique piercing eyes. However, I had quickly discovered her eyes held nothing but a deep disdain for me which had been only heightened by my ill-informed attempts to sound more knowledgeable than I was. Whilst the guests had lapped up my narratives and etymological explanations, she had given me knowing glances and had never once deigned to pull a sheet, take a turn at the wheel, or demonstrate her skills in the galley.

I continued Charlie's jibe, giving out instructions with an explanation to prepare for the tack that would bring us back on course. Ceryn, always keen to lend a hand, practically leapt to the port sheet, almost tripping herself on her safety harness, followed by both Robert and Charles, squabbling over the winch.

"Robert," I cut off the pair like ill behaved toddlers, "get the main in and be ready to haul in the starboard sheet. Alastair, care to give a hand?" The dour Scot rarely participated in any manoeuvre and I wondered why he had accepted his prize. Other than the fact that even the most miserable of people would be hard pushed to turn down a fortnight on a luxury yacht sailing around the south Pacific. He moved quickly enough now, taking the spare winch ready for when Robert had hauled in the sheet.

"Haul in the main, tighten up the jib" Charlie strained on the sheet and the jib tightened as I luffed up into the wind, bringing the nose through the angle of attack as I shouted for Charlie to loosen his sheet and for Robert to pull in the starboard. I leaned forward from the wheel, loosening the main but as I leaned back I caught sight of the instrument panel.

"Shit!" The depth gauge read barely 2.5 metres, and I had calibrated it to read from the surface, meaning we had barely 10 centimetres underneath our hull. One small swell and the keel would be scraping the bottom. I looked up frantically, I could have sworn that we hadn't travelled that close to the land. But the islet was still a good half mile off, serenely calm and beautiful in the growing wind, we should be in free water. I glanced back down at the instruments and was glad to read that the depth was once again registering as a dash, deeper than 35 metres. I could hardly contain a laugh at myself as I read that we were doing 1.9 knots, I had simply misread the dials. It had been a silly mistake, but my heart was still pumping with the adrenaline, to be honest the fear, and my small outburst had not been missed by any of my inexperienced crew. One of my first words of advice, as they reacted to the heeling of the yacht, had been to always keep one eye on the skipper, if he was smiling then everything was fine, if not….well, I wasn't.

The deceptive grin was barely formed on my lips when I realised that I had made a bigger mistake during my distracted study of the dials. I had kept the helm hard to starboard and we were now beginning to jibe again, having turned almost a full circle since I took the wheel, the jib began to dance and collapse as the wind moved around.

"Hard in on the main!" I cried out, but it was too late as the wind caught the main, snapping the boom across the deck with a force that would have ripped the fingers from anyone who had attempted to obey my order. Too late, I saw the transom rip free, roaring across the track towards Ceryn's outstretched leg. How she moved in time I do not know, the heeling of the boat perhaps saving her limb as she was tossed against the shrouds, waves breaking over the side of the yacht as she lay at the full extension of the life line, the boom carving into a wave. But the mast held the weight, I had had enough, my nerves were shot to hell and it was all I could do to keep my grip on the wheel as the keel wrenched the yacht back to the vertical.

"Ellie," she was the nearest and for once responded to my command, perhaps motivated by the slight shake in my voice, "loosen the main halyard, lets get a couple of reefs in." I bowed down priming the engine, fully intending to drop the main completely and have a cup of tea. The diesel reliably chugged into life and I felt reassured by it's healthy drone. I had started sailing in yachts and, although I enjoyed the thrill of dinghies, there was always something reassuring about the presence of an engine, always able to get you out of a crisis and far more reliable than the wind. Perhaps I was not ready for solo skippering, but I could tone down the rest of this trip without much worry.

With the assistance of the engines I brought the yacht into the wind, intending to heave-to to allow my inexperienced crew to relax, although I maintained a steady speed to put more distance between me and the islet, the phantom shallows having drained my confidence. Robert had helpfully moved towards the mast to prepare for the reef and I felt slightly guilty for my low opinion of him. Other than Ceryn, and perhaps Charlie if one could get past his bemused smiles, Robert was the keenest to listen to my advice and to learn how to sail. Robert started flapping his arms frantically, reminding me that his sea legs were not too great and that the swell had picked up. Then I realised that he was calling to me, and that his flailing limbs were pointing forward.

"Breakers!" He seemed to be shouting. But there could be no breakers ahead of us, we were over half a mile from land, almost dead back on my original course which charted clear blue sea. I was so confident in the depth of the ocean that the sudden tearing wrench that threw me from my feet, opening a gash in my forehead as I landed on the winch, dealt my mental health a much worse blow. We had not been going at a great speed, but now we were stopped dead.

I regained my feet slowly, wiping blood from my eyes and releasing that the deck was steady. Not good news in the middle of the ocean. Robert was nowhere to be seen, I scoured the deck.

"Homme par dessus bord!" Charlie shouted, extending his right arm and banging his foot on the deck as I had instructed them days before. "Man overboard!" Ceryn took up the shout.

"Keep pointing, keep pointing, keep fixed on him!" I shouted, stalling as I mentally ran through my man overboard drill in my head. Main was down, engine still running, no maneouverability anyhow. I turned of the engine and headed for the radio. Trevor knocked me to my feet as he hurtled from the companionway.

"Fire, fire!" It wasn't the call that I expected, quite the opposite but I could already see the smoke emerging from the hatch, thick and black.

"What happened?" I demanded, as I regained my feet.

"You tell me!" His eyes were wide as he looked around, then he lost his footing as a wave crashed over the bow of the yacht, washing down the decks. I pulled him to his feet, using a spare safety line to fasten onto a buckle on the bulky coat he was wearing as he didn't have a life jacket. Waves were crashing over the boat now and the clouds were black. There was a chance that the sea and the rain could extinguish the fire but it was not raining yet and I had to prepare for the worst. I heaved the life raft from its compartment, made fast the painter and cast it overboard, the pressurized carbon dioxide canister inflating in seconds.

Quickly assessing my crewmates I realized that with Robert in the water I was the heaviest onboard and standard procedure dictated that I should go into the raft first, but I knew that I wouldn't. Although the smoke was now billowing from the saloon there was a chance that the yacht could be saved. A slim chance yes, but I had to be onboard for there to be any chance, I wasn't going to lose my first command without a fight.

"Alastair, into the boat, harness onto the stern rail before you step over. Charlie, keep your eyes and your hand on Robert." I handed Ceryn down to Alastair, swiftly followed by Ellie who took my assistance without any smart comments. Glancing around I saw that Trevor was standing beside Charles, edging along the genoa traveler. "Trevor, come and get in the life raft!" But he didn't seem to hear me. "Charlie!" The Frenchman moved towards me, always maintaining his vigil on Robert. Trevor had moved towards the bow of the boat and now wasn't even pointing at Robert. I shook my head in frustration. "Wait!" I shouted to Charles as another wave broke over the boat, knocking Trevor from his feet. Suddenly the yacht heaved sternwards, the bow raising several degrees in the air, before settling again on the obstruction. Looking up, I realized that Trevor was barely hanging onto the bow of the boat, lower in the water now that the yacht had settled.

I fought my way forwards, using the rails, the shrouds, anything I could grip to keep myself upright, and made it to Trevor, who was somehow still holding on, although he was on the wrong side of the rails. Lurching against a wave I dived forwards, grapping his around a stanchion, holding him with all my strength against slipping. Another wave broke over the bow, I felt my head crack against the stanchion as Trevor's body was pulled from my grasp. Salt water washed my mouth and clogged my nose. I rolled backwards, spread eagled on the deck, dazed and not even able to fathom up from down. A final wave washed me from the deck, catching a blow on the stubbing rail as I plunged into the water.

Hazy images greeted my eyes and I realized we had run aground on a reef. In open water. As the sardonic smile broadened my lips water rushed into my mouth. I was kicking my feet but my clothes were heavy, my responses sluggish. I didn't feel cold, just lethargic.

I realized I was gagging on the salt, swallowing more as I did so. A strange relaxation came over me as I settled in the water and I knew I was drowning. But I just didn't care anymore.

I barely had the strength to panic at the sight of the dark shape heading towards me.

Gnarled hands smoothed the last lines of the ragged paper as the fisherman finished reading, some of the ink had been smudged by the salt water that had seeped into the bottle. Still, it gave some explanation about the body that he had found on the small island and the strange items that had been nearby. However, he had a bumper catch and had to get back before it spoiled, the contents of the second bottle would have to wait until he was underway. If his passenger didn't need tending.