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," added Sam Bender, the second mate.
"I feel as if I had been drawn through two knot-holes, one right after the other," spoke Bob, with an attempt at a smile.
"You'll soon be all right again now," comforted Tom.