Gilligan was delighted. He perched on the tree trunk and threw his arms about his knees, feeling like he was back in school, being read Treasure Island.

The ghost propped a white-booted foot on the log and leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "We were following James Cook and the Endeavour, you see, when we chanced upon a Dutch trader that had been ravaged by pirates. They told us that a band of buccaneers had taken to preying on the Dutch and Spanish ships coming from the Orient, and getting up to some pretty nasty business. The survivors said the pirate's captain was blackguard of the first water: Tom Scallion. He'd made a name for himself in the Caribbean, and would soon be the terror of the South Pacific. So, I told James to get on with his exploring, and said I'd bring these hounds to heel.

The sea's a fair but fickle mistress, lad. We were struck by the mother of all storms just off the Sandwich Islands and blown leagues off course. By the time it had calmed, we'd lost our sextant and our compass had no idea of our position."

"You lost the sextant and the compass? How'd that happen?"

The Lord Admiral looked embarrassed for a moment and fiddled needlessly with his cravat. "A compass is a damned tricky thing to hang onto in rough weather," he murmured. "Then later in the longboat I was trying to fix our position with the sextant and we nearly struck a rock…" He straightened, smoothing the frothy lace. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."

"Oh…yeah. But what happened to you after the storm?"

"We made repairs as best we could, and thought we'd try for the Sandwiches again. The Pacific is a vast place, lad, but here was a stretch that seemed even more forsaken than the rest. And then, at long last, just at sundown, we saw Scallion's ship ahead, and beyond it, the black mountains of an island. The Sea Witch was making for the shore, or being dragged to it – it was hard to tell which. They seemed to be fighting a mysterious current that was dragging them t'ords the reefs. Well, you heard what happened there. Once the Fortitude was safely anchored, we set down a longboat and made for shore ourselves. That was when I took the sextant and – well – the bosun managed to miss the rock, though we tumbled about a little. But the torches we'd brought were still dry, and when we landed we made fast the boat and found the pirates' footprints headed for the jungle. My men and I set off in pursuit.

We hadn't gone far before the air was filled with the most bloodcurdling whoops ever to chill a man's soul. I've heard the Mohawks shriek in the snows of the Canadas, and it was a Sunday school choir compared to this. The savages came leaping down the mountains, torches blazing, hundreds of them! Half-naked heathens with skulls 'round their waists and masks like grinning demons. They'd surrounded the pirates before you could say Bonaparte. Oh, it was a dreadful battle, lad. I could unfold a tale whose slightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood –" the ghost paused in mid-declamation. "Ahem – well, with a few of their Long Toms the pirates might have prevailed, but cutlasses were no match for that dreadful host. The pirates were taken prisoner and marched away."

Gilligan's eyes went as wide as pewter plates. "Whoever knew that all that happened on our little island! I'm beginning to think anything could happen here! What happened then?"

"Why, we followed them, of course. They were blackguards all, and bound for the hangman's noose, but better a Christian hanging and burial than to be roasted and boiled as part of a pagan feast! Still, I balked at risking the lives of my gallant men against such odds. They argued with me, bless them all, but in the end they did as they were ordered. I told them to keep back and watch. If I could free the pirates, my men were to take them in charge, but if I failed, they were to make for the ship and leave me to my fate."

Gilligan shook his head in admiration. "Gosh, you sure are brave, Lord Admiral. But how were you going to free the pirates all by yourself? How were you going to manage against all those natives?"

The ghost smiled demurely. "Brains, my lad, not brawn. I knew that only the superior mind could win the day. I realized that I could make the natives do my bidding if only they believed I was a god."

Gilligan brightened at the memory. "That's just what we did! That's just what we did! What did you use? A radio? A flashlight? A fire extinguisher?"

The Lord Admiral blinked. "Eh? That's all Greek to me, lad. No, no, it was my find brace of pistols. Nothing like a little fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume! But back to my tale. We crept through the jungle, following the glare and the tang of the natives' torches, their own dreadful war cries and the oaths of the hapless pirates, 'til at last we saw the whole motley crew march into a wide clearing with a hideous totem pole at one end."

"At the barbecue pit!" Gilligan gasped. "I've seen it!"

"And barbecue was what it meant indeed. They had the pirates kneeling on the ground – all but that rascal, Scallion, who was tied to a stake. I expect he was meant to be some special course. There was a fierce, masked savage standing over each pirate with a great club in his hands, and more savages were using poles to tip hot rocks into the pit beneath. A prancing, boned and beaded witch doctor stood gibbering at Scallion, waving a wicked bone knife in his face. I signalled to my men to wait, and stepped into the clearing. 'Avast, you knaves!' I cried. "Now hear this! In the King's name, I, Lord Admiral Gilligan, order you to desist!"

The whole clearing hushed. Villains of both colours stared at me. The tribesmen went for their spears and blowguns. "Lord Gilligan!" shouted Scallion. "I'd heard the yarns about ye, but you're even dafter than they say!"

I faced him. 'Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile! But you'll only hang for your crimes, Tom Scallion, not simmer in a savage's stewpot!' I turned back to the tribesmen, drawing my silver pistol. 'Stand fast, you scoundrels. I am the god of fire and thunder!' Then I fired into the air and the flash and roar sent them all howling. The pirates were howling too. 'Save us, Lord Gilligan! Save us from the cannibal fiends!'

Scallion was as unimpressed with them as I. 'Belay that, you swabs! You'll not hear me begging one spare breath from this prized popinjay!" He turned to the witch doctor and seemed not to care whether he lived or died, so long as he took me with him. 'He's no god, mate. That be a trick. He's just another dish for your table, though I'll swear there ain't much meat on him!"

The witch doctor turned on me. "If you not god," he growled, "you die. And I make on you same curse I make on him!"

Scallion laughed. "Aye. He'll curse your very ghost, milord. We'll be here a mighty long time, you and I."

I raised my second pistol. "I am a god! Behold!" and I pulled the trigger."

There was a pause. Gilligan sat expectantly. "Well?"

"Well…" the ghost began fiddling with his cravat again. "My powder must have gotten damp during the sea crossing. In any case, the damned thing didn't fire. So there I was, with the pistol having made a jolly disappointing click, and me with a hoard of hungry natives suddenly catching up their spears.

Scallion threw back his head and laughed. "Well done, Milord! They'll be sucking on our bones tonight! Har har!"

And then I tried the oldest trick in the book. 'Look!' I cried, pointing to the jungle. They all spun, and I turned and dashed off in the other direction to lead them away from my men. If I could buy them the time to get back to the ship, my death would not be in vain. It was a race I'll never forget. I was haring through the jungle, fighting and tripping through bush and bracken, slipping through mud and bounding over bogs, anything to keep moving and keep them in my wake. I could hear their wild whooping, and their spears and darts were whizzing past me like angry hornets. Fronds slapped my face and thorns ripped my flesh. Finally I emerged, panting, on this promontory. I tore out my telescope and focussed it over the moonlit sea. There below stood the Fortitude, her white sails gleaming in the moonlight. I could see by the glow of the lamps amidships that the capstan was turning and they were about to weigh anchor. They were safe. And just then the natives roared into the clearing and I dropped the telescope and drew my sword, preparing to fight to the last. I dared them on. 'Come on, you rascals! Who'll be the first to taste the cold steel of my blade?'"

Gilligan shuddered and drew a deep breath. "Gosh! How many of them did you get before…you know?"

The ghost looked a little crestfallen. "None, actually. I was trying to keep them all within my sights as they approached and somehow I lost my bearings. The next thing I knew I felt the ground crumbling beneath my foot…and it was a dashed long way down."

Gilligan shivered, chilled with the horror of it.

"And so here I am," the ghost finished brightly. "And here we are!"

"Yeah!" Gilligan shook his head, jarred back to the happier present. "Here we are! But…but how are you here? And how is Tom Scallion still here? What did that old witch-doctor say when he cursed you?"

The Lord Admiral shrugged his non-corporeal shoulders. "I've no notion, lad. Only Scallion heard him. I never returned to their grisly feast."

"Oh yeah, that's right: because you led them away and saved your men! Wow! Lord Admiral, you've got to be the bravest man I've ever known, except for the Skipper."

"The Skipper? Who might he be? A seafaring man, is he?"

"Yeah! He's the Skipper - I mean the captain - of the Minnow, our ship that got shipwrecked." Gilligan gaped up at the Lord Admiral, horrified. "The Skipper! Omigosh, the Skipper!"

The Lord Admiral's eyebrows rose in concern. "What ails you, lad?"

"He was following me through the jungle and I thought he was still there, but when I got here and looked around, he was gone! Then with seeing the pirate and meeting you, I completely forgot about him! We've gotta find him!"

Gilligan scrambled to his feet and was about to dash off into the jungle when the ghost held up his hand. "Hold hard, sir. We'd best hold our position here; your captain may well come seeking you!"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure he knows where I am! I don't know whether he heard me say where we were going! Oh, please, sir, he'd never abandon me on purpose! I'm his little buddy! Something must have happened to him! We've gotta make sure he's all right!"

The Lord Admiral smiled. "All right, my boy. I'll follow your lead. Which course do we take?"

"I think I can take us back the same way we came. I'll just light my torch again..."

He bent to pick up the charred wood, but the ghost interrupted him.

"No time for that, I'd say; we'd best be underway. In any case, you won't need light. Not with me about." The glowing nimbus around his white form intensified and flickered, as if in emphasis.

Gilligan smiled in wonder, mightily impressed. "Wow! You almost look like me when I drank the Professor's formula!"

Now the ghost was truly confused. "Beg pardon, lad?"

Gilligan realized there was no time for explanation. "Uh - I'll explain later. But I better grab this." He snatched the cutlass out of the grass where it had fallen. "I wouldn't want to meet that pirate again without some kind of protection! Come on, our camp is this way, Lord Admiral. With any luck the Skipper revived and found his own way back. Boy, I sure hope so."

With the glowing phantom following in his wake, Gilligan darted into the jungle.