Tom was nearer to excitement than I had ever seen him; he grew voluble; praised the captain, admired his talk, and declared adventure to be abroad in the air--in fact, threw up his head as though he scented it.
Yes, adventure was in the air.

It was not exactly to my taste, however, nor did the thought of my poor mother at home make me more sympathetic with Tom's ecstasy; so whilst he chattered I strode gloomily forward over the beach.
The day was drawing towards noon.

October was revelling in an after-taste of summer, and smiled in broad glory over beach and sea.
A light breeze bore eastward a few fleecy clouds, and the waves danced and murmured before its breath.

Their salt scent was in our nostrils, and the glitter of the sand in our eyes.

Black and sombre in the clear air, Dead Man's Rock rose in gloomy isolation from the sea, while the sea-birds swept in glistening circles round its summit.