The History of The Hen Fever Part 29

There resided, at this time, in Lexington, Ky., and but a short distance from Mr. Clay's villa of _Ashland_, a wealthy gentleman, named Samuel Trotter, who was, in fact, the money-king of Kentucky, and who, to a very great extent, at that time, controlled the branch of the Bank of the United States. He had two sheep,--a buck and an ewe,--and Mr. Long was very anxious to possess them.

Mr. Long repeatedly bantered and importuned Mr. Trotter to obtain this pair of sheep from him, but without success; but, one day, the latter said to the former, "If you will build me such a house, on a certain lot of land, as I shall describe, you shall have the Merinos."

"Draw your plans for the buildings," replied Long, instantly, "and let me see them; I will then decide."

The plans were soon after submitted to him, and Long eagerly accepted the proposal, and forthwith engaged in the enterprise. He built for Trotter a four-story brick house, about fifty feet by seventy, on the middle of an acre of land; he finished it in the most approved modern style, and enclosed it with a costly fence; and, finally, handed it over to Trotter, for the _two Merino sheep_. The establishment must have cost, at the very least, fifteen thousand dollars.

But, alas! A long while before this beautiful and costly estate was fully completed, the price of Merinos declined gradually; and six months had not pa.s.sed away before they would not command twenty dollars each, even in Kentucky.

Mr. Long was subsequently a wiser but a _poorer_ man. He held on to this pair till their price reached the par value only of any other sheep; and then he absolutely killed this buck and ewe, made a princely barbecue, called all his friends to the feast, and whilst the "goblet went its giddy rounds," like the ruined Venetian, he thanked G.o.d that, at that moment, he was not worth a ducat!

This is absolute, sober _fact_. Mr. Long was completely and irretrievably ruined in his pecuniary affairs; and very soon after this "sumptuous dinner," he took sick, and actually died of a broken heart.

Along in the summer and fall of 1854, having watched the course that matters were taking in the chicken-trade, I became cautious; for I thought I heard in the far-off distance something indefinite, and almost undistinguishable, yet pointed and emphatic in its general tone. I listened; and, as nearly as I could make the warning out, it sounded like "TAKE CARE!"

And so I waited for the _denouement_ that was yet to come. In the mean time, I had a friend who for five long years had been religiously seeking for that incomprehensible and never-yet-come-at-able _ignis fatuus_, a genuine "Cochin-China" fowl of undoubted purity!

I had not heard of or from him for some weeks; until, one morning, about this time, a near relative of his sent to my house all that remained of this indefatigable searcher after truth; an accurate drawing of which I instantly caused to be made--and here it is!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[16] _We_ have found it a very comfortable "rage," thank you!

CHAPTER XLIV.

BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE.

My friend John Giles, of Woodstock, Conn., has somewhere said, of late, "I often hear that the 'fowl' fever is dying out. If by this is meant the unhealthy excitement which we have had for a few years past, for one, I say the sooner that it dies out the better. But as to the enthusiasm of _true_ lovers of the feathered tribe dying out, it never will, as long as man exists. It is part of G.o.d's creation. The thinking man loves and admires his Maker's work; always did; always will. And I have not the least doubt that any enterprising young man, with a suitable place and fancier's eye, would find it to his advantage to embark in the enterprise of fowl-raising for market."

Now, I don't know but John is honest in this a.s.sertion,--that is, I can imagine that he believes in this theory! But how he can ever have arrived at such a conclusion (with the results of his own experience before him), is more than I _can_ comprehend.

Laying aside all badinage, for the moment, I think it may be presumed that I have had some share of experience in this business, _practically_, and I think I can speak advisedly on this subject. As far back as during the years 1839, '40 and '41, I erected, in Roxbury, a poultry establishment on a large scale, upon a good location, where I had the advantages of ample s.p.a.ce, twenty separate hen-houses, running water and a fine pond on the premises, gla.s.s-houses (cold, and artificially heated, for winter use), and every appurtenance, needful or ornamental, was at my command.

I purchased and bred all kinds of domestic fowls there, and they were attended with care from year's end to year's end. But there was _no_ profit whatever resulting from the undertaking,--and why?

The very week that a _ma.s.s_ of poultry--say three to five hundred fowls--is put together _upon one spot_, they begin to suffer, and fail, and retrograde, and die. No amount of care, cleanliness or watching, can evade this result. _In a body_ (over a dozen to twenty together), they cannot thrive; nor can the owner coax or force them to lay eggs, by any known process.[17]

To succeed with the breeding of poultry, the stock must be _colonized_ (if a large number of fowls be kept), or else only a few must find shelter in any one place, about the farm or country residence. And my experience has taught me that five hens together will yield more eggs than fifty-five together will in the same number of months.

I honestly a.s.sert, to-day, that of all the humbug that exists, or which has been made to exist, on this subject, no part of it is more glaringly deceptive, in my estimation, than that which contends for the _profit_ that is to be gained _by breeding poultry_--_as a business by itself_--_for market consumption_. The idea is preposterous and ridiculous, and no man can accomplish it,--I care not _what_ his facilities may be,--to any great extent, _upon a single estate_. The thing is impossible; and I state this, candidly, after many years of practical experience among poultry, on a liberal scale, and in the possession of rare advantages for repeated experiment.

I do not say that certain persons who have kept a _few_ fowls (from twenty-five to a hundred, perhaps), and who have looked after them carefully, may not have realized a profit upon them, in connection with the farm. But, to make it a business _by itself_, I repeat it, a _ma.s.s_ of domestic and aquatic fowls cannot be kept together to any advantage whatever, their produce to be disposed of at ordinary market value.

The fever for the "fancy" stock broke out at a time when money was plenty, and when there was no other speculation rife in which every one, almost, could easily partic.i.p.ate. The prices for fowls increased with astonis.h.i.+ng rapidity. The whole community rushed into the breeding of poultry, without the slightest consideration, and the mania was by no means confined to any particular cla.s.s of individuals--though there was not a little shyness among certain circles who were attacked at first; but this feeling soon gave way, and our first men, at home and abroad, were soon deeply and riotously engaged in the subject of henology.

Meantime, in England they were doing up the matter somewhat more earnestly than with us on this side of the water. To show how even the n.o.bility never "put their hand to the plough and look back" when anything in this line is to come off, and the better to prove how fully the poultry interests were looked after in England, I would point to the names of those who, from 1849 to 1855, patronized the London and Birmingham a.s.sociations for the improvement of domestic poultry.

The Great Annual Show, at Bingley Hall, was got up under the sanction of His Royal Highness Prince Albert, the d.u.c.h.ess of Sutherland, Lady Charlotte Gough, the Countess of Bradford, Rt. Hon. Countess of Littlefield, Lady Chetwynd, Hon. Viscountess Hill, Lady Littleton, Hon.

Mrs. Percy, Lady Scott, and a host of other n.o.ble and royal lords and ladies, whose names are well known among the lines of English aristocracy.

But, as time advanced, the star of Shanghae-ism began to wane. The n.o.bility tired of the excitement, and the people of England and of the United States began to ascertain that there was absolutely nothing in this "hum," save what the "importers and breeders" had made, through the influence of the newspapers; and while a few of the _last men_ were examining the thickness of the sh.e.l.l, cautiously and warily, the long-inflated bubble burst! and, as the fragments descended upon the devoted heads of the unlucky star-gazers, a cry was faintly heard, from beneath the ruins--"_Stand from under_!"

I had been watching for this climax for several months; and when the explosion occurred, as nearly as I can "cal-'late," _I_ wasn't _thar_!

[17] Since this was written, I find in the _Country Gentleman_ a communication from L.F. Allen, Esq., on this very subject, in which he says that "A correspondent desires to know how to build a chicken-house for 'about one thousand fowls.' If my poor opinion is worth anything, _he will not build it at all_. Fowls, in any large number, will not thrive. Although I have seen it tried, I never knew a large collection of several hundred fowls succeed _in a confined place_. I have known sundry of these enterprises tried; but I never knew one _permanently_ successful. They were all, in turn, abandoned." The thing is entirely impracticable.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE DEAD AND WOUNDED.

I have never yet been able to ascertain, authentically, all the exact particulars of the final catastrophe; but, basing an opinion upon the numerous "dispatches" I received from November, 1854, to February, 1855, the number of dead and wounded must have been considerable, if not more.

I received scores of letters, during this last period mentioned, of which the annexed is a fair sample:

"G.P. BURNHAM, ESQ.

"DEAR SIR: I'm afraid the jig is up! There's a big hole in the bottom somewhere, or I am mistaken. I _think_ the dance is concluded; and if it isn't time to 'blow out the lights' and shut down the gate, just let us know,--will you? Where's Bennett, and Harry Williams, and Dr. Eben, and Childs, and Ad. White, and Brackett, and Johnny Giles, and Uncle Alden, and Buckminster, and Chickering, and Coffin, and Fussell, and Chenery, and Gilman, and Hatch, and Jaques, and Barnum, and Southwick, and Packard, and Balch, and Morton, and Plarsted, and Geo. White, _et id omne genus_? Where are they all? _S-a-y!_

"What has become of Platt, and Miner, and Newell, and Hudson, and Heffron, and Taggard, and Hill, and Swett, and M'Clintock, and Dr.

Kerr, and Devereux, and Thacher, and Haines, and Hildreth; and Brown, and Smith, and Green, and _their_ allies? Are they dead, or only 'kilt'? Let me know, if you can, I beseech you!

"'O, where, tell me where,' is my bonnie friend John Moore, and mine ancient _frere_ Morse, and my loved chum Howard, and the wily b.u.t.ters? And where's Pedder--the immaculate Pedder? And Charley Belcher, too, and bragging Cornish, and Billy Everett, and our good neighbors Parkinson, and George, and Sol. Jewett, and President Kimball, and know-nothing King, and the reverend Marsh, and Pendletonian Pendleton of Pendleton Hill, and their satellites?

Have all departed, and left no _wreck_ behind? I reckon not!

"Seriously, friend B----, what does all this mean? Has the fever pa.s.sed by? Can't we offer another single prescription? Has the _last_ man been heard from? Has there been found 'a balm in Gilead'

to heal the wounds of the afflicted sufferers? Is the thing finished? Are they all cured? Did you say _all_? Dunder and blixen!

Is anybody hurt? What are we to do? '_Speak_, or die!'

"Where are the 'Committee,' and the 'Judges,' and the 'Trustees,'

and the 'Managers'? Where is the 'Society' whose name, 'like linked sweetness long drawn out,' I haven't time to write? Where is _that_ balance in the _Treasurer's_ hands,'--and where is that functionary himself? Did he ever exist at all? What has become of the premiums that were _awarded_ at the last show in Boston? And when, in the language of the enthusiastic Mr. Snooks (at the Statehouse in 1850), will that a.s.sociation begin 'to be forever perpetuated,'--eh?

"I have got on hand three hundred of the Shanghae devils! What can I do with them? There is a neighbor of mine (a police-officer), who has got stuck with a lot of 'Cochin' chickens, which he swears he won't support this winter; and he has at last advertised them as _stolen property_, in the faint hope, I suppose, that some 'green 'un' will come forward and claim them. You can't get rid of these birds! It is useless to try to sell them; _you can't give them away_; n.o.body will take them. You can't starve them, for they are fierce and dangerous when aggravated, and will kick down the strongest store-closet door; and you can't kill them, for they are tough as rhinoceroses, and tenacious of life as cats. Ah! Burnham, I have never forgiven the man who made me a present of my first lot! Do you want what I've got left? Will you take them? How much shall I pay you to receive them? Help me out, if you can.

"I am not aware that I ever committed any offence, that this judgment should be thus visited upon _my_ poor head! I never sold fowls for what they were _not_; I never cheated anybody, that I know of; I do not remember ever having done any unjust act that should bring down upon me this terrible vengeance. Yet I am now the owner of nearly three hundred of these infernal, cursed, miserable ghosts in 'feathered mail,' which I cannot get rid of! Tell me what I shall do, and answer promptly.

"Yours, in distress,

I have smiled over this doc.u.ment, so full of feeling and earnestness, so lively and touching in its recollections of the days when we went _chicken_-ing, long time ago! But I have never been able to reply fully to my ardent friend's numerous inquiries. I don't want those "three hundred Shanghae devils," though. I have now on hand _nine_ of them (only, thank Heaven!) myself; and that is quite enough for one farm, at the present current price of grain.

What has become of all the friends about whom my correspondent so carefully inquires, I don't know. Not _five_ of them are now _in_ the hen-trade, however; and there are not ten of them who got _out_ of the business with a whole skin, from the commencement.