Some of the speakers had by this time got to be so elated and so ardent that they rehearsed all they knew, and some of them told of a great deal more than themselves or anybody else had ever dreamed of, bearing upon the subject of poultry-raising. But, really, the subject was an exciting one, and the talkers were excusable; they couldn't help it!
Shades of morus multicaulis victims! Shadows of defunct tulip-growers! Spirits of departed Merino sheep speculators! Ghosts of dead Berkshire pig fanciers! Where were ye all on that eventful night, when six hundred sober, "respectable" representatives of "the people" were assembled within the walls of our time-honored state edifice upon Beacon Hill, in serious and animated conclave, to decide the momentous question that "hens was hens," notwithstanding, nevertheless!
"Mr. President," exclaimed one of these gentlemen (whose speech was not publicly reported, I think), "Mr. President, the times is propishus. We're a-enterin' on a new ery. The people is a-movin' in this 'ere great, and wonderful, and extraordinary – I may say, Mr. President, this 'ere soul-stirrin' and 'lectrefyin – branch of interestin' rural erconomy." (Applause, during which the speaker advanced a step or two nearer to the presiding officer's desk, wiped his nose fiercely upon a fiery-red bandanna handkerchief, and proceeded.)
"The world, Mr. President," he continued, "is a-growin' wiser ev'ry day, – I may say ev'ry hour, Mr. President! Ay, sir, ev'ry minute." (Loud applause, amid which one old gentleman in a bob-wig was particularly vociferous.)
"I say, Mr. President, the people is a-growin' wiser continu'lly; and by that expression, sir, I mean to convey the idee that they are a-gettin' to know more, sir! Who will gainsay this position? Whar's the man – whar's the er – individooal, sir – that'll stan' up 'ere to-night, in this hallowed hall, under the shadder of this doom above our heads, sir, in view of the great American eagle yender, – that 'bird of promise,' sir, – and dispute the assertion that I now make, Mr. President, as an American citizen, without fear and without reproach!" (Deafening shouts of "Nobody! nobody can dispute it!")
"No, sir! I think not, I wot not, I ventur' not, I cal'k'late not! I say, Mr. President, it is no use for nun of us to contend agin the mighty ingine of progress; 'nless we'd like to get our crowns mashed in for our pains, sir. That's the way it 'pears to me; and I've no doubt that this 'nlitened ordinance now present, sir, will agree with me on this p'int, and admit the truth that present indications, sir, p'int, with strikin' force, to the proberble likelihood that the deeds begun here to-night must be forever perpetooated hereafter, and that – a – they will – er – go down, sir, to our children, and our children's children, a posteriori, in the futur, forever!" ("Yes, yes!" and thundering applause.)
"But, sir, the p'int at issoo seems to me to be clear as the broad-faced sun on a cloudy day. I'm no speaker, sir. I am not the man, sir, that goes about to proclaim on tops of houses! I'm a quiet citizen, and calls myself one o' 'the people,' sir. But w'en the questions comes up of this natur', – w'en it 'pears to me to be so clear and so transparent, – w'en the people goes abroad, sir, in their might, and – er – and can't stay ter home, – w'en such things occurs, sir, then I'm round!" (Shouts of "Good! good! good!" the respectable old gentleman in the bob-wig creating a cloud of dust about him with his stamping and excited gestures.)
"Mr. President, I have a'most done – " ("No, no! Go on, go on!" from all parts of the house.)
"No, sir; as I've said afore, I'm no speaker, an' I make no pretenshuns to oraterry. I'm a plain man, sir; but I feel deeply interested in this subject." (Nobody had yet ascertained what the "subject" was, because the gentleman hadn't alluded to any.) "And, sir, I feel that I should be unjust to myself and to this ordinance ef I did not say what I have, sir. I go in for the poultry-breedin', sir, all over! Sir,
I love 'em, I love 'em, – an' who shall dar'
To chide me for lovin' and praisin' them 'are?
"I love 'em, sir, – chickens or poultry, – dead or alive. My father afore me loved 'em, sir; and I'm rejoiced to see the feelin's that's exhibited here to-night. And, 'less anybody should suspect that I have ventured upon these few remarks with mercenary motives, Mr. President (though perhaps no such suppersishun would animate no man's bosom), I will state, sir, that I have no fowls to sell, sir, – none whatever. No, sir! not a fowl! I'm a buyer, sir, – I want to buy," shouted the excited man, – and he sat down amid the deafening plaudits of his associates at this meeting, who fully appreciated his speech and his palpable disinterestedness.
(Item.– I found this gentleman the next day, and informed him that I had heard of his destitution. I had understood that he had no poultry, but was in search of pure-blooded stock. Before night I had fully supplied him with genuine samples, at thirty dollars a pair, and no "discount for cash.")
Before this meeting concluded, the prices of fowls, and eggs, and feathers, were duly discussed, the details of which I will defer to the next chapter.
But all the indications at this convention were really of a threatening character; and it would have required the strength of several stout men to have held certain of the speakers as they got warmed up, and rattled away, for dear life, upon the advantages that must accrue to the nation, in a thousand ways, from the encouragement of this epidemic, and the certain, inevitable losses that must be sustained by "the people" if they didn't go into this thing with a rush.
Most of these speakers, however, had fowls for sale!
CHAPTER VI.
THE EPIDEMIC SPREADING
While all this was transpiring, my "splendid" Cochin-China fowls had arrived from England, and I had had a nice house arranged, in which to keep and exhibit them to visitors.
The pullets began to lay in January, 1850, and immediately afterwards my trade commenced in earnest, which continued, without interruption, up to the close of the year 1854.
Among the "monstrosities" presented at the second meeting at the Boston Statehouse were several propositions that were suggested by gentlemen-amateurs and farmers in regard to the price that should be fixed on, by members of the Society with the elongated title, for eggs sold for incubation.
One man thought that two dollars a dozen for most of the fancy kinds would pay well. This gentleman (I do not remember who he was) probably calculated to furnish fancy eggs as a certain agricultural concern had been doing for some months: that is, by first purchasing them at a shilling a dozen from the eastern packets, or in Quincy Market. The next man thought that three dollars per dozen would be fair. Another member believed that one dollar was enough for twelve eggs, "but he didn't know much about it," he acknowledged; which was pretty evident from his remarks. At any rate, he had never fed a "laying hen" long enough on good corn to ascertain how much she would devour while she was furnishing him with the said twelve eggs, I imagine! One gentleman, more liberally disposed, probably, ventured to express his willingness to pay five dollars a dozen for what he wanted. I understood he got home safely after the meeting, though it was feared he would be mobbed for his temerity in making this ridiculous offer!
I had already fixed my price for the eggs that were to be dropped by my "extraordinary and superb" Cochin-China fowls, which by this time had got to be "the admiration of the State" (so the newspapers said). I had the best fowls in this world, or in any other; this being conceded by every one who saw them, there was no necessity of "talking the subject up" to anybody. I charged twelve dollars a dozen for my eggs – and never winked at it!
And why shouldn't I have the highest price? Were not my fowls the "choicest specimens" ever seen in America? Didn't everybody so declare? Didn't the press and the poultry-books concede this, without an exception? Well, they did! And so, for months, I obtained one dollar each for my Cochin-China fowls' eggs; and I received order after order, and remittance after remittance, for eggs (at this figure), which I could not begin to supply.
And I didn't laugh, either! I had no leisure to laugh. I filled the orders as they came, – "first come, first served," – and for several months I found my list of promises six or eight weeks in advance of my ability to meet them with genuine eggs.
I was not so well informed, then, as I was afterwards. I think all the eggs that were then wanted might have been had. But, as the boy said, when asked where all the stolen peaches he had eaten were gone, "I donno!"
Will it be credited that, during the summer of 1850, I had dozens of full-grown men – gentlemen – but enthusiastic hen-fanciers (who had contracted the fever suddenly), who came to my residence for Cochin-China eggs, at one dollar each, and who, upon being informed that I hadn't one in the house, would quietly sit down in my parlor and wait two, three, or four hours at a time, for the hens to lay them a few, that they might take them away with them? Such is the fact, however it may be doubted.
I subsequently sold the eggs at ten dollars a dozen; then at six dollars; and finally, the third and fourth years, at five dollars. This paid me, because I sent off a great many.
But they didn't hatch well after having been transported away and shaken over in the hands of careless and ignorant or reckless express agents. Thus the buyers came again. Many of the early fanciers tried this experiment over and over again, but with similar ill-success; and when they had expended ten, twenty, or thirty dollars, perhaps, for eggs, they would begin at the beginning aright, and purchase a few chickens to rear, from which they could finally procure their own eggs, and go forward more successfully. But all this took time to bring it about.
And meanwhile somebody (I don't say who) was "feathering a certain nest" as rapidly as a course of high-minded and honorable dealing with his fellow-men would permit.
CHAPTER VII.
ALARMING DEMONSTRATIONS
My premises were literally besieged with visitors, and my family attendants were worn out with answering the door-bell summons, from morning till night.
"Is Mr. B – at home? Can we see his Cochin-Chinas? Can we look at Mr. B – 's fowls? Might we take a look at the chickens?" were the questions from sun to sun again, almost; and I was absolutely compelled, in self-defence, to send the fowls away from home, for a while, for the sake of relief from the continual annoyances to which, in consequence of having them in my yard, I was subjected.
Fifteen, twenty, often forty callers in a single day, would come to see my "magnificent" Cochin-China fowls. But I sent them off, and then "the people" cried for them!
"Who's dead?" queried a stranger, passing my door one day, and observing the carriages and vehicles standing in a line along the front of my garden-fence.
"Nobody, I guess," said another; "that's where the Cochin-Chinas are kept."
"The what?"
"The Cochin-Chinas."
"What's them?"
"Don't you know?"
"No; never heard of 'em, afore."
"Never heard of Burnham's Cochin-Chinas?"
"Never! What are they?"
"Well, I reckon you ha'n't lived in these 'ere parts long, my friend," continued the other; "and you'd better step in and look at 'em."
In came the stranger, and after examining the fowls he returned.
"How do you like 'em?" asked the man who had already seen them, and was waiting for his friend outside.
"They're ronchers, that's a fact!" exclaimed the gratified stranger. And this was the universal opinion.
Nobody had ever seen such fowls (I had seen a good many better ones!) – nobody had ever beheld any so large, so heavy, so fine. And every one who came to look at them purchased or engaged either eggs or chickens from these "extraordinary" and "never-to-be-too-much-lauded" royal Cochin-China fowls!
For my first broods of chickens (at three and four months old) I readily obtained twenty-five dollars a pair; and every one of them went off "like hot cakes" at this figure. It was too low for them, altogether; and I had occasion to regret, subsequently, that I did not charge fifty dollars a pair; – a price which I might just as easily then have obtained as if I had charged but one dollar a pair, as events proved to my satisfaction.