A Jug Of Syrup

by Ambrose Bierce

This narrative begins with the death of its hero. Silas Deemer died onthe I6th day of July, 1863; and two days later his remains were buried.As he had been personally known to every man, woman and well-grown childin the village, the funeral, as the local newspaper phrased it, 'waslargely attended.' In accordance with a custom of the time and place,the coffin was opened at the graveside and the entire assembly offriends and neighbours filed past, taking a last look at the face of thedead. And then, before the eyes of all, Silas Deemer was put into theground. Some of the eyes were a trifle dim, but in a general way it maybe said that at that interment where was lack of neither observance norobservation; Silas was indubitably dead, and none could have pointed outany ritual delinquency that would have justified him in coming back fromthe grave. Yet if human testimony is good for anything (and certainly itonce put an end to witchcraft in and about Salem) he came back.I forgot to state that the death and burial of Silas Deemeroccurred in the little village of Hillbrook, where he had lived forthirty-one years. He had been what is known in some parts of the Union(which is admittedly a free country) as a 'merchant'; that is to say, hekept a retail shop for the sale of such things as are commonly sold inshops of that character. His honesty had never been questioned, so faras is known, and he was held in high esteem by all. The only thing thatcould be urged against him by the most censorious was a too closeattention to business. It was not urged against him, though manyanother, who manifested it in no greater degree, was less lenientlyjudged. The business to which Silas was devoted was mostly his own --that, possibly, may have made a difference.At the time of Deemer's death nobody could recollect a single day,Sundays excepted, that he had not passed in his 'store,' since he hadopened it more than a quarter-century before. His health having beenperfect during all that time, he had been unable to discern any validityin whatever may or might have been urged to lure him astray from hiscounter; and it is related that once when he was summoned to the countyseat as a witness in an important law case and did not attend, thelawyer who had the hardihood to move that he be 'admonished' wassolemnly informed that the Court regarded the proposal with 'surprise.'Judicial surprise being an emotion that attorneys are not commonlyambitious to arouse, the motion was hastily withdrawn and an agreementwith the other side effected as to what Mr. Deemer would have said if hehad been there -- the other side pushing its advantage to the extremeand making the supposititious testimony distinctly damaging to theinterests of its proponents. In brief, it was the general feeling in allthat region that Silas Deemer was the one immobile verity of Hillbrook,and that his translation in space would precipitate some dismal publicill or strenuous calamity.Mrs. Deemer and two grown daughters occupied the upper rooms of thebuilding, but Silas had never been known to sleep elsewhere than on acot behind the counter of the store. And there, quite by accident, hewas found one night, dying, and passed away just before the time fortaking down the shutters. Though speechless, he appeared conscious, andit was thought by those who knew him best that if the end hadunfortunately been delayed beyond the usual hour for opening the storethe effect upon him would have been deplorable.Such had been Silas Deemer -- such the fixity and invariety of hislife and habit, that the village humorist (who had once attendedcollege) was moved to bestow upon him the sobriquet of 'Old Ibidem,'and, in the first issue of the local newspaper after the death, toexplain without offence that Silas had taken 'a day off.' It was morethan a day, but from the record it appears that well within a month Mr.Deemer made it plain that he had not the leisure to be dead.One of Hillbrook's most respected citizens was Alvan Creede, abanker. He lived in the finest house in town, kept a carriage and was amost estimable man variously. He knew something of the advantages oftravel, too, having been frequently in Boston, and once, it was thought,in New York, though he modestly disclaimed that glittering distinction.The matter is mentioned here merely as a contribution to anunderstanding of Mr. Creede's worth, for either way it is creditable tohim -- to his intelligence if he had put himself, even temporarily, intocontact with metropolitan culture; to his candour if he had not.One pleasant summer evening at about the hour of ten Mr. Creede,entering at his garden gate, passed up the gravel walk, which lookedvery white in the moonlight, mounted the stone steps of his fine houseand pausing a moment inserted his latchkey in the door. As he pushedthis open he met his wife, who was crossing the passage from the parlourto the library. She greeted him pleasantly and pulling the door fartherback held it for him to enter. Instead, he turned and, looking about hisfeet in front of the threshold, uttered an exclamation of surprise.'Why! -- what the devil,' he said, 'has become of that jug?''What jug, Alvan?' his wife inquired, not very sympathetically.'A jug of maple syrup -- I brought it along from the store and setit down here to open the door. What the --''There, there, Alvan, please don't swear again,' said the lady,interrupting. Hillbrook, by the way, is not the only place inChristendom where a vestigal polytheism forbids the taking in vain ofthe Evil One's name.The jug of maple syrup which the easy ways of village life hadpermitted Hillbrook's foremost citizen to carry home from the store wasnot there.'Are you quite sure, Alvan?''My dear, do you suppose a man does not know when he is carrying ajug? I bought that syrup at Deemer's as I was passing. Deemer himselfdrew it and lent me the jug, and I --'The sentence remains to this day unfinished. Mr. Creede staggeredinto the house, entered the parlour and dropped into an arm-chair,trembling in every limb. He had suddenly remembered that Silas Deemerwas three weeks dead.Mrs. Creede stood by her husband, regarding him with surprise andanxiety.'For Heaven's sake,' she said, 'what ails you?' Mr. Creede'sailment having no obvious relation to the interests of the better landhe did not apparently deem it necessary to expound it on that demand; hesaid nothing -- merely stared. There were long moments of silence brokenby nothing but the measured ticking of the clock, which seemed somewhatslower than usual, as if it were civilly granting them an extension oftime in which to recover their wits.'Jane, I have gone mad -- that is it.' He spoke thickly andhurriedly. 'You should have told me; you must have observed my symptomsbefore they became so pronounced that I have observed them myself. Ithought I was passing Deemer's store; it was open and lit up -- that iswhat I thought; of course it is never open now. Silas Deemer stood athis desk behind the counter. My God, Jane, I saw him as distinctly as Isee you. Remembering that you had said you wanted some maple syrup, Iwent in and bought some -- that is all -- I bought two quarts of maplesyrup from Silas Deemer, who is dead and underground, but neverthelessdrew that syrup from a cask and handed it to me in a jug. He talked withme, too, rather gravely, I remember, even more so than was his way, butnot a word of what he said can I now recall. But I saw him-good Lord, Isaw and talked with him -- and he is dead So I thought, but I'm mad,Jane, I'm as crazy as a beetle; and you have kept it from me.'This monologue gave the woman time to collect what faculties she had.'Alvan,' she said, 'you have given no evidence of insanity, believeme. This was undoubtedly an illusion -- how should it be anything else?That would be too terrible! But there is no insanity; you are workingtoo hard at the bank. You should not have attended the meeting ofdirectors this evening; anyone could see that you were ill; I knewsomething would occur.'It may have seemed to him that the prophecy had lagged a bit,awaiting the event, but he said nothing of that, being concerned withhis own condition. He was calm now, and could think coherently.'Doubtless the phenomenon was subjective,' he said, with a somewhatludicrous transition to the slang of science. 'Granting the possibilityof spiritual apparition and even materialization, yet the apparition andmaterialization of a half-gallon brown clay jug -- a piece of coarse,heavy pottery evolved from nothing -- that is hardly thinkable.'As he finished speaking, a child ran into the room -- his littledaughter. She was clad in a bedgown. Hastening to her father she threwher arms about his neck, saying: 'You naughty papa, you forgot to comein and kiss me. We heard you open the gate and got up and looked out.And, papa dear, Eddy says mayn't he have the little jug when it is empty?'As the full import of that revelation imparted itself to AlvanCreede's understanding he visibly shuddered. For the child could nothave heard a word of the conversation.The estate of Silas Deemer being in the hands of an administratorwho had thought it best to dispose of the 'business,' the store had beenclosed ever since the owner's death, the goods having been removed byanother 'merchant' who had purchased them en bloc. The rooms above werevacant as well, for the widow and daughters had gone to another town.On the evening immediately after Alvan Creede's adventure (whichhad somehow 'got out') a crowd of men, women and children thronged thesidewalk opposite the store. That the place was haunted by the spirit ofthe late Silas Deemer was now well known to every resident of Hillbrook,though many affected disbelief. Of these the hardiest, and in a generalway the youngest, threw stones against the front of the building, theonly part accessible, but carefully missed the unshuttered windows.Incredulity had not grown to malice. A few venturesome souls crossed thestreet and rattled the door in its frame; struck matches and held themnear the window; attempted to view the black interior. Some of thespectators invited attention to their wit by shouting and groaning andchallenging the ghost to a foot-race.After a considerable time had elapsed without any manifestation,and many of the crowd had gone away, all those remaining began toobserve that the interior of the store was suffused with a dim, yellowlight. At this all demonstrations ceased; the intrepid souls about thedoor and windows fell back to the opposite side of the street and weremerged in the crowd; the small boys ceased throwing stones. Nobody spokeabove his breath; all whispered excitedly and pointed to the nowsteadily growing light. How long a time had passed since the first faintglow had been observed none could have guessed, but eventually theillumination was bright enough to reveal the whole interior of thestore; and there, standing at his desk behind the counter Silas Deemerwas distinctly visible!The effect upon the crowd was marvellous. It began rapidly to meltaway at both flanks, as the timid left the place. Many ran as fast astheir legs would let them; others moved off with greater dignity,turning occasionally to look backward over the shoulder. At last a scoreor more, mostly men, remained where they were, speechless, staring,excited. The apparition inside gave them no attention; it was apparentlyoccupied with a book of accounts.Presently three men left the crowd on the sidewalk as if by acommon impulse and crossed the street. One of them, a heavy man, wasabout to set his shoulder against the door when it opened, apparentlywithout human agency, and the courageous investigators passed in. Nosooner had they crossed the threshold than they were seen by the awedobservers outside to be acting in the most unaccountable way. Theythrust out their hands before them, pursued devious courses, came intoviolent collision with the counter, with boxes and barrels on the floor,and with one another. They turned awkwardly hither and thither andseemed trying to escape, but unable to retrace their steps. Their voiceswere heard in exclamations and curses. But in no way did the apparitionof Silas Deemer manifest an interest in what was going on.By what impulse the crowd was moved none ever recollected, but theentire mass -- men, women, children, dogs -- made a simultaneous andtumultuous rush for the entrance. They congested the doorway, pushingfor precedence -- resolving themselves at length into a line and movingup step by step. By some subtle spiritual or physical alchemyobservation had been transmuted into action -- the sightseers had becomeparticipants in the spectacle -- the audience had usurped the stage.To the only spectator remaining on the other side of the street --Alvan Creede, the banker -- the interior of the store with its inpouringcrowd continued in full illumination; all the strange things going onthere were clearly visible. To those inside all was black darkness. Itwas as if each person as he was thrust in at the door had been strickenblind, and was maddened by the mischance. They groped with aimlessimprecision, tried to force their way out against the current, pushedand elbowed, struck at random, fell and were trampled, rose and trampledin their turn. They seized one another by the garments, the hair, thebeard -- fought like animals, cursed, shouted, called one anotheropprobrious and obscene names. When, finally, Alvan Creede had seen thelast person of the line pass into that awful tumult the light that hadilluminated it was suddenly quenched and all was as black to him as tothose within. He turned away and left the place.In the early morning a curious crowd had gathered about 'Deemer's.'It was composed partly of those who had run away the night before, butnow had the courage of sunshine, partly of honest folk going to theirdaily toil. The door of the store stood open; the place was vacant, buton the walls, the floor, the furniture, were shreds of clothing andtangles of hair. Hillbrook militant had managed somehow to pull itselfout and had gone home to medicine its hurts and swear that it had beenall night in bed. On the dusty desk, behind the counter, was the salesbook. The entries in it, in Deemer's handwriting, had ceased on the 16thday of July, the last of his life. There was no record of a later saleto Alvan Creede.That is the entire story -- except that men's passions havingsubsided and reason having resumed its immemorial sway, it was confessedin Hillbrook that, considering the harmless and honourable character ofhis first commercial transaction under the new conditions, Silas Deemer,deceased, might properly have been suffered to resume business at theold stand without mobbing. In that judgment the local historian fromwhose unpublished work these facts are compiled had the thoughtfulnessto signify his concurrence.

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