The Skipper arrived back at the camp at first light, stumbling to the communal table with a throbbing headache. "Professor! Mr. and Mrs. Howell! Ginger and Mary Ann! Come quick!"

The Professor was the first to appear, hurriedly pulling on the shirt of his spotted pyjamas. "What is it, Skipper?" He stopped at the table where the Skipper was sitting, holding his head. "What on earth's happened?"

The girls came rushing out of their hut: Mary Ann in the long-tailed dress shirt donated by Mr. Howell long ago, and Ginger provocatively wrapped in her orange blanket. "Skipper, what is it?" Mary Ann gasped.

And finally the Howells appeared, he in his ascot and dressing gown, and she in a blue chiffon robe. As Gilligan had once remarked, they were more dressed up to go to bed than he was to be awake. Thurston yawned and groaned in dismay. "A little early for roll call, don't you think, Captain?"

His wife concurred. "Good heavens, our butler never even drilled the servants this early!"

The Professor took charge "Everyone, quiet, please!" He placed a steadying hand on the Skipper's shoulder. "Now just it easy, Skipper. Take your time."

The Skipper passed a hand across his eyes. "We haven't got time, Professor! Did Gilligan come back here during the night?"

The Howells and the girls looked at one another in surprise while the Professor drew back. "Come back? Did the two of you go somewhere?"

"Out into the jungle. A long ways. Is he here?"

"I'll go check!" Mary Ann hurried to the crew's hut, looked through the window, then turned back in dismay. "He's not there, Skipper!"

The Skipper tried to rise, but the Professor held him down. "Now just hang on, Skipper. You've got to tell us what this is all about. What was this nocturnal expedition in aid of?"

"Oh..." It was a moan of despair. "He was going after his pirate ghost. He was convinced it was going to kill us all!"

"What?" They all chorused, appalled. "But he was hypnotized! Do you mean the post-hypnotic suggestion wore off?" demanded the Professor.

"Oh, he was just pretending, Professor! It was all a put-on! Last night I caught him trying to sneak out of our hut to try to find his ghost! He was absolutely dead set on going! But I couldn't let him go by himself! What if he got hurt? What if he is hurt? I--"

"Skipper!" The professor cut in trying to stem his friend's rising panic. "One thing at a time. What happened after the two of you set off?"

"We were making our way through the jungle when something hit me...I don't know what it was...I must have been out for hours! When I woke up, Gilligan was gone!"

"But the dear boy wouldn't leave you, Captain!" Mrs. Howell protested. "He's as loyal as a lapdog!"

"I know, Mrs. Howell! I wandered around looking for him...I was even lost for a few hours...but there was no sign of him! He must be in some sort of trouble! And the worst of it is, I don't even know where he was headed! I got knocked out before he could tell me!"

The Professor straightened, ready to take command. Somehow, even in pyjamas and with tousled hair, Roy Hinkley commanded respect. "We'll form search parties at once, Skipper. We'll find him."

"I say, before breakfast?" Howell made a basset hound face. "Surely we'd search better on a full stomach?"

The Skipper shook his head. "Howell, he may be hurt! We can't waste any time!"

Howell scowled. "Not even Gilligan would be ill-bred enough to be needing first aid before breakfast. I mean really!"

"Come on, folks," the Professor urged. "We must get dressed and get on our way as soon as possible. Mr. Howell, you, Mrs. Howell and Mary Ann take the bay on the west side of the island. Ginger and I will start north toward the mountains."

"And what about me?" insisted the Skipper. "I'm not staying here while my little buddy's out there in the jungle!"

"Yes you are, Skipper." When the Skipper tried to stand, the Professor increased the pressure on his shoulder. "We need someone here, in case Gilligan makes his own way back. If he comes back and finds the camp empty, he'll just leave again and search for us. We'd all be running around in circles." At the Skipper's look, the Professor added, "I'll tell you what, Skipper. If he comes back, light a big signal fire in the centre of camp. We'll see the smoke and know that we can return. All right?"

"Oh, all right," sighed the Skipper, holding his head. "Just hurry, everyone! I won't rest easy until I see my little buddy safe again!"

No sooner had the Skipper spoken when Gilligan burst out out of the jungle and into camp. "Skipper! Oh, Skipper, there you are! Am I glad to see you! What happened to you? I thought you were still out in the jungle somewhere!"

He skidded to a halt beside the Skipper, who had already jumped out of his chair. "Gilligan, little buddy! Where have you been all this time?"

Everyone else echoed the same question.

"Egad, m'boy! Where did you get to?"

"Yes, you silly boy, we've been desperately worried!"

"Oh, Gilligan, thank goodness you're all right!"

"Gilligan, what were you thinking?"

But the first mate couldn't answer any of them: crushed in the Skipper's bear hug, he could barely breathe.

"Perhaps if the Skipper will let Gilligan go, he will be able to elucidate as to his unorthodox undertaking," the Professor observed wryly.

The Skipper released his grateful, gasping little buddy, who nodded his thanks to the Professor. "I'll what?" he wheezed.

"Tell us where you went and what you did," the Professor explained, careful to use words of one syllable.

"Oh, yeah! I was up at the cliffs on the north end of the island! It took me all night to get back!"

The Professor's syllables took a quantum leap of fear. "Gilligan, that's a highly hazardous area! You could have been precipitated from a precipice!"

"Is that bad?"

"Gilligan!" the Skipper roared, terrified. "You could have fallen to your death!"

"But I didn't, Skipper! Oh, not that it wasn't close! The pirate ghost was there, all right! He chased me all over the place! But at the last minute, I was saved!"

"Saved?" they all echoed blankly.

"Yeah!" Gilligan beamed. "Wait t'ill I show you! I'll go get him!" He started to run towards the jungle when the Skipper grabbed his arm.

"Get who?" he demanded incredulously. "The pirate?"

Gilligan laughed as though that were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "No, of course not, Skipper!" He slipped loose and sprinted for the trees while the Castaways looked at one another in complete bafflement.

When Gilligan reached the dark fringes of the jungle he found the Lord Admiral standing behind the foliage, frowning at his white costume. Gilligan urged him out. "Come on! You can come out and meet them now!" He noticed the ghost's displeasure. "What's wrong?"

"It's my attire. Not formal and fitting enough for introductions. I feel I ought to change."

Gilligan looked dubious and scratched his head. "Well...anything I've got would probably fit you, but this is about as formal as I ever get!"

The Lord Admiral sighed. "It's well thought of, lad, but I can't help wishing I had my dress uniform here..." No sooner had he spoken those words when his whole form began to shimmer.

"What's happening to you?" gasped an astonished Gilligan.

"I've no idea!" gasped the equally astonished phantom.

And suddenly he wavered back into relative solidity, only now he stood resplendent in the full dress uniform of the 18th Century British Navy, in dark blue tailcoat, gold buttons, braids and epaulets, and in place of the white hat was a tall blue bicorn with white trim. The ghost surveyed his new appearance and grinned in delight.

"How'd you do that?" demanded his descendent.

"I haven't the foggiest! I'm still new to this ghost business, after all. But now that I am properly kitted out...pipe me aboard, lad!" And the ghost strode forward into the clearing, brimming with confidence, as his living counterpart tagged happily alongside him.

When they reached the table Gilligan swept his arms across in a grand gesture of introduction. "Here he is, everybody!"

The Lord Admiral swept off his bicorn and executed another perfect bow. "Your servant, ladies! Your servant, gentlemen! Allow me to introduce myself: Lord Admiral Gilligan, commander of the H.M.S. Fortitude. I bring you greetings in the name of his gracious majesty King George the Third and offer my services in the pursuit of the villainous pirate, Tom Scallion!"

Gilligan clapped wildly, like a child with the best show-and-tell ever. "Isn't he great? He's the ghost of my great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather! He's an Admiral! Can you believe it? Wow, just look at him!"

The Lord Admiral smiled demurely, replacing his bicorn. "Stand down, lad. No need for all the fanfare."

"Oh." Gilligan grinned shyly, trying to calm down. He turned back to his friends. "Mary Ann, I don't know if he can eat anything, but would you mind setting another place for him at breakfast?"

None of the castaways said a word. In fact, nobody was even looking at the Lord Admiral. They were all looking at Gilligan the way campers look at a hungry bear, and backing up slowly.

"S-set a place for who, Gilligan?" stammered Mary Ann, half-hidden behind the Skipper.

At first Gilligan thought she was joking. "What? For the Lord Admiral here, Mary Ann! Who do you think I--" his question petered out as he saw his friends' expressions, and the light dawned.

The Lord Admiral was still in the dark. He stood frowning slightly, stroking his moustache. "Poor little maid. Is she blind?"

Gilligan looked incredulously from face to face. "Oh, no. No, I don't believe it! This is too much!"

"Oh, here we go again!" moaned the Skipper.

"What do you mean, 'here we go again?' Don't say it, Skipper! Don't tell me none of you can see him!"

The Lord Admiral was becoming alarmed. "Good heavens, lad, are they all blind?"

The Professor stepped forwards, trying to keep his voice calm (which was not easy, with a frightened Ginger clinging to his back). "Gilligan, there is nobody there!"

"And deaf? Did you strike the rocks so hard?" The ghost was horrified. "By Neptune, what a tragedy at sea!"

Ginger spoke up from behind the Professor. "Gilligan, listen to the Professor! There is no ghost!"

Gilligan flared. "Ginger, he's just as plain as the nose on your face!"

"Oh!!"

"Oh! Uh...Sorry, Ginger! I didn't mean it that way," he babbled. "But I don't understand it! Why can't anybody see him? He's standing right here, in full dress!"

"Which is more than can be said for this hussy!" the Lord Admiral remarked, lifting his lace handkerchief to his nose as though he smelled something distasteful. "What's the brazen trollop mean, sauntering about in no clothes but the bedclothes? And clinging to that fellow like a wet sail?"

"Lord Admiral, please!" Gilligan chided. "Ginger's my friend!"

The Lord Admiral's eyebrows rose. "I daresay she's been a friend to a good many sailors, lad."

By now the castaways had formed a wide half-circle and looked ready to race for cover at any moment. The Professor leaned over to the Skipper and whispered urgently. "Just keep him talking for a few more minutes! I'm going to get something!" Disengaging Ginger from his back, he slipped into the supply hut.

Meanwhile, Thurston Howell was keeping a protective arm around his wife as he backed up. "Egads, Lovey! Oh, what a feeble mind is here o'erthrown!"

"Keep your voice down, Thurston darling. Don't upset him!"

Gilligan turned on them, making them jump. "Mr. Howell, can't you see him? Can't you see all the gold braid?"

"Heavens to Trafalgar, my boy, I wish I could see it, if it's gold! Even if it isn't there!"

In desperation, Gilligan finally turned to the Skipper. "Skipper, you've got to believe me! We need your help!"

The Skipper laughed nervously, clutching at his hat. "Well...certainly, I'll do anything I can, little buddy! Why don't you ask you friend the Commodore--"

"Admiral," corrected Gilligan.

"Lord Admiral, actually," the ghost added.

"Lord Admiral, actually," Gilligan amended.

"Lord Admiral Actually--I mean Lord Admiral...ha ha...where this pirate's going to show up next?"

"Oh...good idea, Skipper!" Relieved that someone was finally listening to him, Gilligan had turned to address the ghost when the Professor suddenly emerged from the supply hut carrying a coconut cup.

"Gilligan," he called, walking over to him. "Before you do that, I need you to drink this vitamin complex. You've been though an ordeal and will need all your strength in order to stay alert. Now here."

"Thanks, Professor." Gilligan took the cup and drained it quickly. "Lord Admiral, where do you think that..." he stopped, swaying and blinking, and turned suspiciously on the Professor. "Wait a minute...Professor, isn't that the stuff you gave me the other...." and he slumped, unconscious, into the Skipper's arms.

The Lord Admiral drew back, surprised. "By Black Bart's beard! The lad certainly can't hold his grog. Perhaps we haven't bred as true as I thought!"

The Professor leaned his head against Gilligan's chest. "He's not faking this time, Skipper. He's really asleep! You'd better get him to bed, and then we'll have to discuss what to do next." He sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

The Skipper seemed near tears. "All right, Professor. Come on, little buddy." He lifted his first mate as though he weighed no more than a child and carried him into their hut. The Lord Admiral watched, eyes thoughtful. "You'll never make a pirate, sir. Not with a heart like that."