These two have been companions for a long time. Captain Ichabod found him one morning perched upon the top of a floating crate, washed from the deck of a schooner that had gone upon the beach in a booming southeaster. The Captain had proved a life-saver indeed to the proud old bird. Ichabod, when he first spied Shrimp, as he afterward named this bit of flotsam, was wildly anxious to save the creature so it might have a life on shore suited to its nature and desires. Then it flashed upon him that his antiquated and well-worn alarm clock had ceased to work. It occurred to him that the rooster's crowing would suffice to advise him of the hour, and that there would be no need to buy another clock.
The Captain was a woman-hater. This fact accounted for his choosing to live as a hermit on the bit of sand, which he had grown to love. But that loneliness was a trial to Shrimp, who naturally desired a harem of his own. Many times, when the wind was from the mainland, Captain Ichabod had heard the far-away crow of a barnyard fowl, and had gravely and criticizingly listened as Shrimp returned the salute in lusty manner. He had seen the bird swell in rage, and his comb turn red in jealous envy of the other rooster on the mainland.
Captain Ichabod had now come to busying himself with fishing by hook and line for blue fish and sheepshead. In addition he set a line of gill nets in the cove for mullet or any other fish that might become entangled within their meshes. On all his excursions Shrimp accompanied his master. He would perch himself proudly upon the center-board box. More than once, before becoming a seasoned sailor, he had failed to dodge the boom to which the little leg o' mutton sail was attached, and had been knocked from his perch when Uncle Ichabod for a joke let the boat jibe in a flaw of the wind. But Shrimp learned. He learned to dodge the boom. He became, under stress of circumstances, an expert sailor—and was never seasick.
When Shrimp had finished his meal, Ichabod addressed the mangy-looking bird very gravely:
"Shrimp, thar hain't nary sail nor steamer smoke in sight off the Capes and I 'low thar has a dozen skippers seen that-thar same mare's tail as did I last night, and has had the good common sense to haul to in the hook o' the Cape ter ride out the blow that is sure ter come. May the sarpants o' Davy Jones' have mercy on him or her as don't take kivver; me an' you, rooster, 'll have ter do our hook an' linin' in the Spar Channel on this ebb fer so soon as she hauls a leetle more to the south'ard thar is goin' ter be hell kicked up in the Inlet an' me and yo', ole feathers an' comb, had better do our anglin' clost enough that we can shoot inter this home harbor without loosin' o' our rag."
Captain Ichabod busied himself with getting his leads and lines in shape. He cut up a half-dozen mullets for bait. Then he picked up the mast, around which was wrapped a patchwork of canvas, very snugly. It felt at home there for it had been thus rolled around the mast time and again through many years. Captain Ichabod now walked to the red skiff. At his heels Shrimp stalked with great dignity. The Captain stepped the mast, arranged the halyards, and pushed off. The sail caught the wind and Captain Ichabod at the tiller was off for the Spar Channel fishing grounds.
When he had arrived and thrown his anchor overboard, the Captain addressed Shrimp with much solemnity.
"Shrimp, ye air a heap o' company to the ole man, but ye wa'n't built by God A'mighty fer a sailin' mate, all he fixed ye fer was to peck an' scratch an' fight—oh, yes, an' I like ter forgot the crow."
Then nonchalantly he remarked:
"An' thar would be a heap more peace in the world to-day if he had o' built all kinds o' Hens without thar tarnation cackle."