Epilogue

A brilliant sun in a dazzling blue sky shimmered on the waves that hit the reef with a constant crashing boom. Within the shelter of the reef the water was tame enough for swimming, and four figures bobbed up and down, jumping the whitecaps as they dove for a pie plate frisbee. Gilligan, the first to grab it, turned and made ready to aim.

The Professor, waving amid the undulating water, saw Ginger plashing towards him like a red-haired shark. "Hurry, Gilligan! Increase your trajectory!"

"What?"

"Aim higher!"

"Oh!" Gilligan whirled the pie plate high over the water. It arced upward and came sailing 'round, almost straight into the Professor's hands. Almost-- because as he shot up to catch it, Ginger lunged at him and dragged him under. A few seconds later they surfaced, Ginger brandishing the pie plate in triumph.

"Good work, Ginger! We win! Ack!" Mary Ann yelped as water crashed over her head, leaving her pigtails dripping. "Gilligan!"

"It wasn't me, Mary Ann! It was a wave! Honest!"

The Professor, meanwhile, was sputtering and laughing. "I call foul! You girls did not win! That was thoroughly unethical! Gilligan and I can't tackle you!"

"We can splash, though!" cried Gilligan, and Mary Ann got drenched again.

"Oh! Gilligan!" She turned and bobbed after him as fast as her short frame would allow. The Professor, meanwhile, was trying to snatch the pie plate from Ginger, who was waving it tantalizingly out of reach.

"Ha ha! Chase me, Professor! I love to have handsome men chase me!"

On shore, the Howells were seated under the gently billowing palm fronds, bamboo tumblers of cold fruit punch in hand. Beside them the radio announced, "And that wraps up our report from the New York Stock Exchange." Thurston shook his head. "Look at them out there, Lovey. Haven't a care in the world!"

Mrs. Howell smiled. "They certainly are enjoying themselves, darling."

"And A T & T down two points! I mean really!"

"Well, darling, it's just the romance of the South Seas, you know. Don't you remember the first time we stayed in Hawaii?" She sighed, gazing out to where they sky met the sea. "The simple, rustic pleasures of the Honolulu Hilton?"

"Romance indeed. Place was positively overrun with Japanese tourists. You'd think we hadn't won the war!"

His wife carried on, accustomed to his outbursts. "Strolling along the beachfront in front of the hotel in the evening, with the tiki torches lit, and Diamond Head outlined against the sunset?"

Howell harumphed a little less forcefully. "Hmmph. For a volcano, it does have an awfully romantic name."

"It was an awfully romantic time, Thurston. You didn't listen to the stock market report for the whole week."

Howell sat up, affronted. "What? Surely you jest, Lovey! A Howell guilty of such indolence! Such decadence! Impossible! Nothing could ever bewitch a Howell to that degree!"

He looked over at his wife, her blue eyes the colour of the dancing sea, and smiling, squeezed her hand. "Well...almost nothing." He reached over, turned the radio off, and kissed her.

The Skipper appeared from a grove of palms carrying a large crate which he set in a shady spot near the Howells. Moments later, he was back with another one. When he brought a third, Howell looked at him quizzically. "I say, Captain, why aren't you out there frolicking with the young folk? Since when does a man of your rank stoop to mess detail?"

The Skipper grinned, wiping his brow with his arm. "I'll go in later, Mr. Howell. First I had to make sure this was here - and hidden." And he reached into one of the crates to pull out a football sized object swathed in palm leaves.

The wealthy couple leaned forward. Mrs. Howell peered through her lorgnette. "Oh, Captain, is that it? The present?"

"It sure is, Mrs. Howell. Boy, will Gilligan be surprised when he sees this!"

"By Jove, Captain, you've kept us on pins and needles for days now. What's the mystery? What's in that peculiar package?"

"You'll see in a few minutes, Mr. Howell. My little buddy finally seems to be over that pirate business, so I thought this would be the perfect chance to give it to him!"

At the sound of splashing and approaching laughter, Mrs. Howell glanced towards the water. "Oh, quickly, Captain, put it away. Here they come!"

Stumbling through the foaming breakers, Gilligan, the Professor, Ginger and Mary Ann emerged from the sea and trotted up the sand to where their towels lay. As they dried off, Ginger toweled the ends of her red hair. "I wish Hollywood could have seen this. Just call me Esther Williams!"

Gilligan had to agree. "You sure swam good, Ginger. You too, Mary Ann. You looked like a milkmaid!" He broke off at her quizzical look. "Uh...I mean a mermaid."

Mary Ann shook her head and smiled. "Come on, Ginger. Let's get the luau started."

The Professor finished toweling off and turned to Gilligan. "I'll get a fire started for the fish. Where'd you put the firewood, Gilligan?"

"Oh, it's over there, just under the palmetto bush, Professor."

"Fine." The Professor smiled. "You relax then, Gilligan. You've earned it."

Gilligan was perfectly happy to follow these orders. He scooped up a coconut cup and ensconced himself in a wickerwork lounge chair just as the Skipper came up. Leaning back and fanning himself with a palm leaf, Gilligan smiled up at his big buddy. "Skipper...tell me again why we want to get rescued from this island?"

The Skipper looked back and eyed the bathing suited Mary Ann and Ginger, running back and forth between a cache of cooling fruits and the makeshift buffet table. "I gotta admit, little buddy...sometimes I wonder about that myself!"

Gilligan saw where he was looking and snorted. "You'd better go in for a dip soon, Skipper. I think your sailor's blood's overheating!"

The Skipper sputtered and choked, then laughed his great, hearty laugh, the sweetest sound Gilligan knew. All at once the big man lunged down and effortlessly tipped Gilligan over, chair and all. Gilligan yelped to find himself sprawled in the sand, sans drink and fan, with the Skipper guffawing over him. "Ha ha! That's what insubordination'll get you, Gilligan! Ha ha ha! Come on, let's head for the luau, before it's all gone." He seized his surprised first mate by the arm and hauled him to his feet with the remarkable gentleness of a strong man who truly does know his own strength. "Weigh anchor, there, little buddy!"

"Aye aye, Skipper," Gilligan smiled.

Between the grilled fish, fruit and lots of punch sweetened with some of Mr. Howell's rum cache, the luau lasted until the swiftly falling tropical sunset. The castaways gathered around the fire as the huge expanse of sky, swathed in pink and gold, faded to deep blue. One by one, stars began to twinkle in the great depths.

The Skipper stood up ceremonially. "Now that's what I've been waiting for. We needed a star to get the right effect."

The Professor raised his cup to Ginger. "Well, we've already got one, Skipper, but I guess Ginger isn't the kind of star you mean."

Everyone laughed, and Ginger toasted the Professor in return. "Ha, ha, ha, very good, Professor. But what I mean is, I need the stars in the sky to help demonstrate Gilligan's present."

"Present?" Gilligan was flabbergasted. "Skipper, it isn't my birthday! And it can't be my anniversary because I'm not married!"

"I found this a few days ago, Gilligan, and right away I thought of you. Now wait there just a minute." He turned and strode back towards the remains of the buffet, while the others quizzed each other about what it could be.

In a few seconds the Skipper was back with the leafy bundle. "Here you are, little buddy. It's something no sailor should be without."

"Gee, thanks, Skipper!" Gilligan unwrapped it eagerly, the others leaning in for a good view. When the object emerged, everyone gasped in awe.

The instrument Gilligan was holding gleamed in the firelight. It was some kind of brass instrument that looked almost like a huge mathematical compass with an arcing band of metal connecting its feet. A small tube, like a miniature telescope, was affixed near the top.

"Skipper - what on earth is that?" said Mary Ann.

"Looks like something off a ship!" said Ginger. "Is that from the Minnow?"

The Professor shook his head, amazed. "The Minnow never had one of those. What a fantastic find, Skipper!"

Gilligan turned it over and over, mesmerized by the firelight glinting on the polished metal. "Wow...it's beautiful, Skipper. What is it?"

The Skipper beamed. "This is a sextant, little buddy. Hundreds of years ago sailors used them to help navigate. You'd line it up with the horizon and figure out your longitude and latitude by the position of the stars."

"We could determine our position with it, Skipper!" exclaimed the Professor.

"Already did, last night. Give it a try, Gilligan. Look through the eyepiece and line up the horizon...then find the north star."

Gilligan peered through the eyepiece and fiddled with one of the knobs. "OK...got it. What now, Skipper?"

"Well, I'll show you how to do the calculations later Gilligan, but I figure we're 140 degrees longitude and 10 degrees latitude. That puts us about 350 miles southeast of Hawaii.

There was a general gasp of appreciation and Gilligan drew back to examine it again in delight.

Mr. Howell asked, "Amazing, Captain. Where on earth did you unearth it?"

"I didn't. It washed up on shore a few days ago, over by the cliffs, after the storm. It must have lain in the bottom of the sea for ages."

"It did," Gilligan whispered. He was staring intently at the sextant now, stroking the metal like a holy talisman.

When they turned at the wonder in his voice, he showed them the name engraved on the base. The Professor raised his eyebrows. "Hmmm. A British vessel. The H.M.S...Fortitude!"

"By Jove, that's a grand title. Sounds like a Man of War," said Howell.

"He sure was," Gilligan murmured softly.

"Gilligan, my boy, ships are normally referred to as "she."

"Mmmm? Oh...oh, yeah." But Gilligan didn't look at the millionaire; he seemed lost in wonder, staring at the instrument. Then he looked up at his Skipper. "Skipper...you don't know what this means to me. I....don't know how to thank you."

The Skipper smiled, embarrassed. "Well...I know this past week was pretty rough on you, Gilligan, but you sure came through with flying colours."

"I'll say," murmured Mary Ann.

"And I just wanted you to know that...well, that you're not alone. And you never will be."

The warm trade winds caressed Gilligan's face and sent the soft breakers bubbling up onto the beach. He looked around at the people who'd become as dear as his family back home. "Thanks, Skipper. Thanks, everybody. At least I know that the next time there's trouble.." and he smiled, looking at the sextant, "I'll have a ghost of a chance!"

Finis