"I know I am in for it," answered Roger. His face was white, and wore a troubled look.
"What's the matter, seasick?"
"I—I fancy so. My head spins like a top and my stomach is starting to do the same."
"Better go below, lad," said Captain Marshall, coming up. "It won't do you any good to remain on deck."
Roger shuffled off to the companionway, and Dave went after him. The senator's son was growing worse every minute, and it was not long before Phil announced that he also felt sick. Both went to their staterooms, and Dave did what he could to relieve their distress.
"If the old tub would only stop for a minute—just one minute!" groaned Roger.
"That's what I say," responded Phil. "Oh, dear! I'd give a hundred dollars to be on shore again!"
"I think I'd make it a thousand," groaned the senator's son. "Why, Dave, don't you feel it at all?"
"Well, I feel a little strange," answered the country boy, but he did not add that it was because he had to stand by and assist his friends. He made them as comfortable as possible, and then rushed to the deck, to get some fresh air and to get the matter off his mind.
A storm was certainly brewing, and Dave wondered how soon it would strike the Stormy Petrel and how long it would last. The black clouds were piling up in the sky and the wind came in unsteady puffs. Below, the clear, blue water had turned to a dark green.