"What's the matter?" he asked. "You look rather white about the
gills, messmate."

"I--I don't feel very well," replied Bob.

"Better go and lie down then. I guess you're in for a spell of
seasickness. Mr. Tarbill has already got his."

Bob thought it would be best to follow the advice. He went to his
berth, and soon he was a very sick boy. He would have given up all
his chances of rounding the Horn--yes, he would even have
sacrificed his share in the rather mythical treasure of Captain
Obed--if he could only have found some place that was not heaving,
pitching and tossing. But the ship rolled on, and the motion
seemed to increase rather than diminish.

It was a week before Bob was entirely well. During that time he
stayed in his bunk, but Captain Spark saw to it that the boy was
well looked after and doctored with such simple remedies as are
used in that common form of illness, which attacks nearly all who
first venture upon the sea.

At the end of the week Bob found that he could stand up without
feeling his head go buzzing around. He ventured out on deck, and
the salt breeze brought some color into his pale cheeks.

"You sort of look as if you had been drawn through a knothole,"
remarked Tom Manton, one of the sailors.

"Yes, old Father Neptune has been playing tricks on him, I reckon,"