The moon was new, the sky was cloudy, and the swell ran high, for it rolled, unbroken and gathering momentum, from the Antarctic ice.

When the lightning was bright, one saw a low cloud that looked like steam, with a white streak beneath that marked the impact of the big rollers on the sandy coast.
The crash of breakers came out of the dark, like the rattle of a goods train crossing an iron bridge.
"Four fathoms at spring tides, and a shifting channel!" Brown remarked, quoting from a pilot-book.

"The depth, however, varies with the wind, and a stranger must use caution when entering the lagoon." He stopped, and laughed as he resumed: "If this was a sober undertaking I'd steam off and wait for daylight." "I reckon it would be prudent," said Lister dryly.
"We have nothing to do with prudence," Brown rejoined.

"Our job's to work in a sun that knocks a white man down, and stew in the hot malaria damp the land breeze brings off at night.

Cartwright's orders are to lose no time and I want to finish before the fever finishes me.