HEIGHT OF THE FEVER.
While this cage of Grey Shanghaes stood for an hour or two in the
express-office of Adams & Co., in Boston, a servant came from the Revere
House to inform me that "a gentleman desired to see me there, about some
poultry."
As I never had had occasion to run round much after my customers, and,
moreover, as I felt that the dignity of the business--(the _dignity_ of
the hen-trade!)--might possibly be compromised by my responding in
person to this summons, I directed the servant to "say to the gentleman,
if he wished to see me, that I should be at my office, No. 26
Washington-street, for a couple of hours,--after that, at my residence
in Melrose."
The man retired, and half an hour afterwards a carriage stopped before
my office-door. The gentleman was inside. He invited me to ride with
him--(I could afford to _ride_ with him)--to Adams & Co.'s office. He
had seen the "Grey Shanghaes" intended for the Queen there.
"I want that cage of fowls," he said.
"My dear sir," I replied, "they are going to England."
"I _want_ them. What will you take for them?"
"I can't sell them, sir."
"You can send others, you know."
"No, sir. I can't dispose of _these_, surely."
"Can you duplicate this lot?"
"Pretty nearly--perhaps not quite."
"I see," he continued. "I will give you two hundred dollars for them."
"No, sir."
"Three hundred--come!"
"I can't sell them."
"Will you take _four_ hundred dollars for the nine chickens, sir?" he
asked, drawing his pocket-book in presence of a dozen witnesses.
I declined, of course. I couldn't sell these identical fowls; for I had
an object in view, in sending them abroad, which appeared to me of more
consequence than the amount offered--a good deal.
"Will you _name_ a price for them?" insisted the stranger.
I said, "No, sir--excuse me. I would not take a thousand dollars for
these birds, I assure you. Their equals in quality and number do not
live, I think, to-day, in America!"
"I won't give a--a--thousand dollars, for them," he said, slowly. "No,
I won't give _that_!" and we parted. Yet, I have no doubt, had I
encouraged him with a prospect of his obtaining them at all, he _would_
have given me a thousand dollars for that very cage of fowls! To _this_
extent did the hen fever rage at that moment.
I subsequently sent this gentleman two trios of my grey chickens, for
which he paid me $200.
And now the Grey Shanghae trade commenced in _earnest_. Immediately
after the announcements were made (which I have quoted) orders poured in
upon me furiously from all quarters of this country, and from Great
Britain. Not a steamer left America for England, for months and months,
on board of which I did not send more or less of the "Grey Shanghaes."
From every State in the Union, my orders were large and numerous; and
letters like the following were received by me almost every day, for
months:
"G.P. BURNHAM.
"SIR: I have just seen the pair of superb Grey Shanghae fowls which
you sent to Mr. ---- ----, of this city, and I want a pair like
them. If you can send me _better_ ones, I am willing to pay higher
for them. He informs me that your price per pair is forty dollars.
I enclose you _fifty_ dollars; do the best you can for me, but
forward them _at once_,--don't delay.
"Yours, &c.,
"---- ---- ----."
I almost always had "_better_ ones." That was the kind I always kept
behind, or for my own use. I rarely sent away these better ones until
they cried for 'em! I always had a great _many_ of the "best" ones, too;
which were even better than those "better" ones for which the demand had
come to be so great!
Strange to say, everybody got to want _better_ ones, at last; and,
finally, I had none upon my premises but this very class of birds--to
wit, the "better ones." To be sure, I reserved a very _few_ pairs of the
_best_ ones, which could be obtained at a fair price; but these were the
ones that would "take down" the fanciers, occasionally, who wanted to
beat _me_ with them at the first show that came off. But I didn't sleep
much over this business. I always had one cock and three or four hens
that the boys didn't _see_--until we got upon the show-ground. Ha, ha!
A stranger called at my house, one Sunday morning, just as I was ready
with my family for church. He apologized for coming on that day, but
couldn't get away during the week. He had never seen the Grey
Shanghaes--didn't know what a Chinese fowl was--had no idea about them
at all. He wanted a few eggs--heard I had them--wouldn't stop but a
moment--saw that I was just going out, &c. &c. He sat down--was sorry to
trouble me--wouldn't do so again--would like just to take a peep at the
fowls--when, suddenly, as he sat with his back close to the open
window, my old crower sent forth one of those thundering, unearthly,
rolling, guttural shrieks, that, once heard, can never be forgotten!
The stranger leaped from his chair, and sprang over his hat, as he
yelled,
"Good God! what's _that_?"
His face was as white as his shirt-bosom.
"That's one of the Grey Shanghaes, crowing," I replied.
"_Crow!_ I beg your pardon," he said; "I don't want any eggs--no! I'll
leave it to another time. I--a--I couldn't take 'em now; won't detain
you--good-morning, sir," he continued; and, rushing out of my front
door, he disappeared on "a dead run," as fast as his legs could carry
him. And I don't know but he is running yet. He was desperately alarmed,
surely!
[Illustration: "I DON'T WANT ANY EGGS--NO!"--(See page 109.)]
I was so amused at this incident, that I was in a precious poor mood to
attend church that morning. And when my friend the minister arose at
length, and announced for his text that "the wicked flee when no man
pursueth," those words capped the climax for me.
I jammed my handkerchief into my mouth, until I was nearly suffocated,
as I thought of that wicked fellow who had just been so frightened while
in the act of attempting to bargain for fancy hen's eggs on the Sabbath!
A Western paper, in alluding to the fever, about this period, observed
that "this modern epidemic has shown itself in our vicinity within a
short time, and is characterized by all the peculiarities which have
marked its ravages elsewhere. Some of our most valuable citizens are now
suffering from its attacks, and there is no little anxiety felt for
their recovery. The morning slumbers of our neighbors are interrupted by
the sonorous and deep-toned notes of our Shanghae Chanticleer, and
various have been the inquiries as to how he took '_cold_,' and what we
gave him for it. 'Chittagongs' and 'Burma Porters' are now as learnedly
discussed as 'Fancy Stocks' on change.
The N.Y. _Scientific American_ stated, at this time, that the
"Cochin-China fowl fever was then as strong in England as in some parts
of New England,--in fact, stronger. One pair exhibited there was valued
at $700. What a sum for a hen and rooster! The common price of a pair is
$100," added this journal; and still the trade continued excellent with
me.
[Illustration]