CHAPTER XVI.

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!

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.