Struggles and Triumphs P. T. Barnum (the beginning after the end read novel .TXT) 📖

though finally she was persuaded to take another room. And a great many people, French, English, and American will not undertake any important enterprise on the thirteenth day of the month, nor sit at table with the full complement of thirteen persons. With regard to this number to which so many superstitions cling, I have some interesting experiences and curious coincidences, which are worth relating as a part of my personal history.

When I was first in England with General Tom Thumb, I well remember dining one Christmas day with my friends, the Brettells, in St. James’s Palace, in London. Just before the dinner was finished (it is a wonder it was not noticed before) it was discovered that the number at table was exactly thirteen.

“How very unfortunate,” remarked one of the guests; “I would not have dined under such circumstances for any consideration, had I known it!”

“Nor I either,” seriously remarked another guest.

“Do you really suppose there is any truth in the old superstition on that subject?” I asked.

“Truth!” solemnly replied an old lady. “Truth! Why I myself have known three instances, and have heard of scores of others, where thirteen persons have eaten at the same table, and in every case one of the number died before the year was out!”

This assertion, made with so much earnestness, evidently affected several of the guests, whose nerves were easily excited. I can truthfully state, however, that I dined at the Palace again the following Christmas, and although there were seventeen persons present, every one of the original thirteen who dined there the preceding Christmas, was among this number, and all in good health; although, of course, it would have been nothing very remarkable if one had happened to have died during the last twelve months.

While I was on my Western lecturing tour in 1866, long before I got out of Illinois, I began to observe that at the various hotels where I stopped my room very frequently was No. 13. Indeed, it seemed as if this number turned up to me as often as four times per week, and so before many days I almost expected to have that number set down to my name wherever I signed it upon the register of the hotel. Still, I laughed to myself, at what I was convinced was simply a coincidence. On one occasion I was travelling from Clinton to Mount Vernon, Iowa, and was to lecture in the college of the latter place that evening. Ordinarily, I should have arrived at two o’clock p.m.; but owing to an accident which had occurred to the train from the West, the conductor informed me that our arrival in Mount Vernon would probably be delayed until after seven o’clock. I telegraphed that fact to the committee who were expecting me, and told them to be patient.

When we had arrived within ten miles of that town it was dark. I sat rather moodily in the car, wishing the train would “hurry up”; and happening for some cause to look back over my left shoulder, I discovered the new moon through the window. This omen struck me as a coincident addition to my ill-luck, and with a pleasant chuckle I muttered to myself, “Well, I hope I wont get room number thirteen tonight, for that will be adding insult to injury.”

I reached Mount Vernon a few minutes before eight, and was met at the depot by the committee, who took me in a carriage and hurried to the Ballard House. The committee told me the hall in the college was already crowded, and they hoped I would defer taking tea until after the lecture. I informed them that I would gladly do so, but simply wished to run to my room a moment for a wash. While wiping my face I happened to think about the new room, and at once stepped outside of my bedroom door to look at the number. It was “number thirteen.”

After the lecture I took tea, and I confess that I began to think “number thirteen” looked a little ominous. There I was, many hundreds of miles from my family; I left my wife sick, and I began to ask myself does “number thirteen” portend anything in particular? Without feeling willing even now to acknowledge that I felt much apprehension on the subject, I must say I began to take a serious view of things in general.

I mentioned the coincidence of my luck in so often having “number thirteen” assigned to me to Mr. Ballard, the proprietor of the hotel, giving him all the particulars to date.

“I will give you another room if you prefer it,” said Mr. Ballard.

“No, I thank you,” I replied with a semi-serious smile; “If it is fate, I will take it as it comes; and if it means anything I shall probably find it out in time.” That same night before retiring to rest I wrote a letter to a clerical friend, then residing in Bridgeport, telling him all my experiences in regard to “number thirteen.” I said to him in closing: “Don’t laugh at me for being superstitious, for I hardly feel so; I think it is simply a series of coincidences which appear the more strange because I am sure to notice every one that occurs.” Ten days afterwards I received an answer from my reverend friend, in which he cheerfully said: “It’s all right; go ahead and get ‘number thirteen’ as often as you can. It is a lucky number,” and he added:

“Unbelieving and ungrateful man! What is thirteen but the traditional ‘baker’s dozen,’ indicating ‘good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over,’ as illustrated in your triumphal lecturing tour? By all means insist upon having room No. 13 at every hotel; and if the guests at any meal be less than that charmed complement, send out and compel somebody to come in.

“What do you say respecting the Thirteen Colonies? Any ill luck in the number? Was the patriarch Jacob afraid of it when he adopted