When the steamer got out into the open bay, Bobby was seasick.

He retired to his berth with a dreadful headache; as he described it afterwards, it seemed just as though that great walking beam was smashing up and down right in the midst of his brains.

He had never felt so ill before in his life, and was very sure, in his inexperience, that something worse than mere seasickness ailed him.
He told Tom, who was not in the least affected, how he felt; whereupon the runaway blustered round, got the steward and the captain into the cabin, and was very sure that Bobby would die before morning, if we may judge by the fuss he made.
The captain was angry at being called from the pilot house for nothing, and threatened to throw Tom overboard if he didn't stop his noise.

The steward, however, was a kind-hearted man, and assured Bobby that passengers were often a great deal sicker than he was; but he promised to do something for his relief, and Tom went with him to his state room for the desired remedy.
The potion was nothing more nor less than a table spoonful of brandy, which Bobby, who had conscientious scruples about drinking ardent spirits, at first refused to take.

Then Tom argued the point, and the sick boy yielded.