From Jack London's A Son of the Sun:—
"She had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights."
Somewhere north of the Arctic Circle, we presume.
UNCHARTED SEAS.
He boarded the 'bus just as it was leaving Piccadilly Circus. "Full ahtside," chanted the conductor, so the A.B. squeezed into a totally inadequate space between a girl of sixteen and an elderly and benevolent-looking lady. Squaring himself forward, he placed a hand like a boxing-glove on either knee and glanced genially up and down the 'bus. He was a large man, dark and hairy, and it was quite easy to associate him with pigtails, tar and cutlasses. After the first impression there came to one a sense of something odd and un-nautical. Then one became suddenly aware that, instead of the regulation Navy cap, he was wearing a rough woollen tam-o'-shanter, which hung coyly over one ear.
A thin man in a top-hat was the first to notice it.
"Still pretty cold in the North Sea?" he ventured, with an eye upon the tam-o'-shanter.
"So I've 'eard," the sailor replied guardedly; "but this 'ere," he touched his headgear, "ain't an Arctic brow-mitten. I got this from a friend, 'avin' lost me own little 'at jest after the second torpedo was fired."