Jim Sulivan's Adventures in the Great Snow Page #2

"Jim Sulivan's Adventures in the Great Snow" is a captivating tale by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu that follows the thrilling exploits of a young protagonist, Jim Sulivan, as he navigates the challenges of a harsh winter landscape. Set against the backdrop of deep snow and chilling temperatures, the story combines elements of adventure and mystery, exploring themes of perseverance and resilience. Le Fanu's evocative prose brings the stark beauty of the winter setting to life, while Jim's brave encounters and escapades showcase his spirited character and determination. The narrative reflects both the joys and perils of the season, making it a compelling read for lovers of classic adventure literature.

• Fiction

								

'It's I that's the unforthunate famale,' says she, 'an' not yourself,
Jim Soolivan,' says she.

An' this way she kep' an till mornin', cryin' and lamintin; an' wid the
first light she called up all the sarvint bys, an' she tould them to
go out an' to sarch every inch iv ground to find the corpse, 'for I'm
sure,' says she, 'it's not to go hide himself he would,' says she.

Well, they went as well as they could, rummagin' through the snow,
antil, at last, what should they come to, sure enough, but the corpse
of a poor thravelling man, that fell over the quarry the night before
by rason of the snow and some liquor he had, maybe; but, at any rate,
he was as dead as a herrin', an' his face was knocked all to pieces jist
like an over-boiled pitaty, glory be to God; an' divil a taste iv a nose
or a chin, or a hill or a hollow from one end av his face to the other
but was all as flat as a pancake. An' he was about Jim Soolivan's size,
an' dhressed out exactly the same, wid a ridin' coat an' new corderhoys;
so they carried him home, an' they were all as sure as daylight it was
Jim Soolivan himself, an' they were wondhering he'd do sich a dirty turn
as to go kill himself for spite.

Well, your honour, they waked him as well as they could, with what
neighbours they could git togither, but by rason iv the snow, there
wasn't enough gothered to make much divarsion; however it was a plisint
wake enough, an' the churchyard an' the priest bein' convanient, as soon
as the youngsthers had their bit iv fun and divarsion out iv the corpse,
they burried it without a great dale iv throuble; an' about three days
afther the berrin, ould Jim Mallowney, from th'other side iv the little
hill, her own cousin by the mother's side--he had a snug bit iv a farm
an' a house close by, by the same token--kem walkin' in to see how she
was in her health, an' he dhrew a chair, an' he sot down an' beginned to
convarse her about one thing an' another, antil he got her quite an' asy
into middlin' good humour, an' as soon as he seen it was time:

'I'm wondherin', says he, 'Nell Gorman, sich a handsome, likely girl,
id be thinkin' iv nothin' but lamintin' an' the likes,' says he, 'an'
lingerin' away her days without any consolation, or gettin' a husband,'
says he.

'Oh,' says she, 'isn't it only three days since I burried the poor man,'
says she, 'an' isn't it rather soon to be talkin iv marryin' agin?'

'Divil a taste,' says he, 'three days is jist the time to a minute for
cryin' afther a husband, an' there's no occasion in life to be keepin'
it up,' says he; 'an' besides all that,' says he, 'Shrovetide is almost
over, an' if you don't be sturrin' yourself an' lookin' about you,
you'll be late,' says he, 'for this year at any rate, an' that's twelve
months lost; an' who's to look afther the farm all that time,' says he,
'an' to keep the men to their work?' says he.

'It's thrue for you, Jim Mallowney,' says she, 'but I'm afeard the
neighbours will be all talkin' about it,' says she.

'Divil's cure to the word,' says he.

'An' who would you advise?' says she.

'Young Andy Curtis is the boy,' says he.

'He's a likely boy in himself,' says she.

'An' as handy a gossoon as is out,' says he.

'Well, thin, Jim Mallowney,' says she, 'here's my hand, an' you may
be talkin' to Andy Curtis, an' if he's willin' I'm agreeble--is that
enough?' says she.

So with that he made off with himself straight to Andy Curtis; an'
before three days more was past, the weddin' kem an', an' Nell Gorman
an' Andy Curtis was married as complate as possible; an' if the wake was
plisint the weddin' was tin times as agreeble, an' all the neighbours
that could make their way to it was there, an' there was three fiddlers
an' lots iv pipers, an' ould Connor Shamus(1) the piper himself was in
it--by the same token it was the last weddin' he ever played music at,
for the next mornin', whin he was goin' home, bein' mighty hearty
an' plisint in himself, he was smothered in the snow, undher the ould
castle; an' by my sowl he was a sore loss to the bys an' girls twenty
miles round, for he was the illigantest piper, barrin' the liquor alone,
that ever worked a bellas.

     (1) Literally, Cornelius James--the last name employed as a
     patronymic. Connor is commonly used. Corney, pronounced
     Kurny, is just as much used in the South, as the short name
     for Cornelius.

Well, a week passed over smart enough, an' Nell an' her new husband was
mighty well continted with one another, for it was too soon for her to
begin to regulate him the way she used with poor Jim Soolivan, so they
wor comfortable enough; but this was too good to last, for the thaw kem
an', an' you may be sure Jim Soolivan didn't lose a minute's time as soon
as the heavy dhrift iv snow was melted enough between him and home to
let him pass, for he didn't hear a word iv news from home sinst he lift
it, by rason that no one, good nor bad, could thravel at all, with the
way the snow was dhrifted.

So one night, when Nell Gorman an' her new husband, Andy Curtis, was
snug an' warm in bed, an' fast asleep, an' everything quite, who should
come to the door, sure enough, but Jim Soolivan himself, an' he beginned
flakin' the door wid a big blackthorn stick he had, an' roarin' out like
the divil to open the door, for he had a dhrop taken.

'What the divil's the matther?' says Andy Curtis, wakenin' out iv his
sleep.

'Who's batin' the door?' says Nell; 'what's all the noise for?' says
she.

'Who's in it?' says Andy.

'It's me,' says Jim.

'Who are you?' says Andy; 'what's your name?'

'Jim Soolivan,' says he.

'By jabers, you lie,' says Andy.

'Wait till I get at you,' says Jim, hittin' the door a lick iv the
wattle you'd hear half a mile off.

'It's him, sure enough,' says Nell; 'I know his speech; it's his
wandherin' sowl that can't get rest, the crass o' Christ betune us an'
harm.'

'Let me in,' says Jim, 'or I'll dhrive the door in a top iv yis.'

'Jim Soolivan--Jim Soolivan,' says Nell, sittin' up in the bed, an'
gropin' for a quart bottle iv holy wather she used to hang by the back
iv the bed, 'don't come in, darlin'--there's holy wather here,' says
she; 'but tell me from where you are is there anything that's throublin'
your poor sinful sowl?' says she. 'An' tell me how many masses 'ill make
you asy, an' by this crass, I'll buy you as many as you want,' says she.

'I don't know what the divil you mane,' says Jim.

'Go back,' says she, 'go back to glory, for God's sake,' says she.

'Divil's cure to the bit iv me 'ill go back to glory, or anywhere else,'
says he, 'this blessed night; so open the door at onst' an' let me in,'
says he.

'The Lord forbid,' says she.

'By jabers, you'd betther,' says he, 'or it 'ill be the worse for you,'
says he; an' wid that he fell to wallopin' the door till he was fairly
tired, an' Andy an' his wife crassin' themselves an' sayin' their
prayers for the bare life all the time.

'Jim Soolivan,' says she, as soon as he was done, 'go back, for God's
sake, an' don't be freakenin' me an' your poor fatherless childhren,'
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