“Early next morning the Sirdar, who had been deputed by the Amir to receive the mission, came into camp, and soon we all started for the top of the pass.... As we ascended, curiously enough, we came across a solitary magpie, which I should not have noticed had not Cavagnari pointed it out and begged me not to mention the fact of his having seen it to his wife, as she would be sure to consider it an unlucky omen.
“On descending to the (Afghan) camp, we were invited to partake of dinner, served in the Oriental fashion on a carpet spread on the ground. Everything was done most lavishly and gracefully. Nevertheless, I could not feel happy as to the prospects of the mission, and my heart sank as I wished Cavagnari good-by. When we had proceeded a few yards in our different directions, we both turned round, retraced our steps, shook hands once more, and parted forever.”
The sequel is told in the succeeding chapter. “Between one and two o’clock on the morning of the 5th of September, I was awakened by my wife telling me that a telegraph man had been wandering around the house and calling for some time, but that no one had answered him. The telegram told me that my worst fears had been only too fully realized.” Cavagnari and his party had been massacred by the Afghans.
Again, there are certain things which may not be given to a male friend (young, unmarried ministers excepted), such, for example, as a pair of slippers, because the recipient will be sure, metaphorically speaking, to walk away from the giver in them.
There is also current in some parts of New England a belief that it is unlucky to get one’s life insured, or to make one’s will, under the delusion that doing either of these things will tend to shorten one’s life. This feeling comes of nothing less than a ridiculous fear of facing even the remote probability involved in the act; and is of a piece with the studied avoidance of the subject of death, or willing allusion in any way, shape, or form to the dead, even of one’s own kith and kin, quite like that singular belief held by the Indians which forbade any allusion to the dead whatsoever.
Spilling the salt, as an omen of coming misfortune, is one of the most widespread, as well as one of the most deeply rooted, of popular delusions. It is said to be universal all over Asia, is found in some parts of Africa, and is quite prevalent in Europe and America to-day. Vain to deny it, the unhappy delinquent who is so awkward as to spill salt at the table instantly finds all eyes turned upon him. Worse still, the antidote once practised of flinging three pinches of salt over the left shoulder is no longer admissible in good society. Instantly every one present mentally recalls the omen. His host may politely try to laugh it off, but all the same, a visible impression of something unpleasant remains.
Something was said in another place about the potency of the number “three” to effect a charm either for good or for evil. Firemen and railroad men are more or less given to the belief that if one fire or one accident occurs, it will inevitably be followed by two more fires or accidents. A headline in a Boston newspaper, now before me, reads, “The same old three fires in succession,” and then hypocritically exclaims, “How the superstitious point to the recurrence!”
The superstition about railroad accidents is by no means confined to the trainmen, or other employees, but to some extent, at least, is shared even by the higher officials, who point to their past experiences in the management of these iron highways as fully establishing, to their minds, certain conditions. One of these gentlemen once said to me, after a bad accident on his road, “It is not so much this one particular accident that we dread, as what is coming after it.” I also knew of a conductor who asked for a leave of absence immediately after the occurrence of a shocking wreck on the line.
Although periodically confronted with a long series of most momentous events in the world’s history that have happened on that day of the week, the superstition in regard to Friday, as being an unlucky day, has so far withstood every assault. It will not down. Whether it exists to so great an extent as formerly may be questioned, but that it does exist in full force, more especially among sailors, is certain. We have it on good authority that this self-tormenting delusion grew out of the fact that the Saviour was crucified on Friday, ever after stigmatized as “hangman’s day,” and, therefore, set apart for the execution of criminals, now as before time.
It is not wholly improbable that some share of the odium resting upon Friday may arise from the fact of its being so regularly observed as a day of fasting, or at least maigre, by some religionists.