Driven to Bay, Volume II by Florence Marryat

It was an intensely cold morning. As the sun raised his golden head of light above the horizon, huge icebergs could be seen far away to the southward, looking like monuments of dazzling crystal; and a westerly wind, combined with the smell of the bergs, was sufficient to nip any prominent part of the face left exposed to its freezing blast. On board the _Pandora_ not a sound was to be heard, save the footsteps of Mr Coffin, as he tramped steadily up and down the deck, turning an occasional glance upon the _Daisy_, a little barque of four hundred tons, that was sailing alongside of them. The _Daisy_ was a whaler, built at Glasgow, and hailing from Peterhead. Her commander, Captain Rae, was a rough, weather-beaten old son of Neptune -- stern on duty and fearless of danger; but when on shore (which was seldom), a favourite with women, and beloved of little children. Everybody in Peterhead knew Captain Rae, and accorded him a hearty welcome whenever his barque anchored in port. The men met him with outstretched hands; the women smiled upon him graciously; and the children clung to his sleeves and coat tails, like barnacles on a water-logged plank.

‘It won't do to go any further down south,' he observed to his chief officer, Mr Green, who had just emerged from the booby hatch, after taking a cup of steaming coffee, ‘because we shall be falling in with too much ice, and I like to give them bergs a wide berth. Besides, I've a notion we shall fall in with some fish before long, if that darned passenger packet to leeward don't scare 'em away. Let her come to two points,' he called out to the man at the wheel. ‘Keep her due east.'