Jim Sulivan's Adventures in the Great Snow

"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

								
     Being a Ninth Extract from the Legacy of the late Francis
     Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh.

Jim Sulivan was a dacent, honest boy as you'd find in the seven
parishes, an' he was a beautiful singer, an' an illegant dancer
intirely, an' a mighty plisant boy in himself; but he had the divil's
bad luck, for he married for love, an 'av coorse he niver had an asy
minute afther.

Nell Gorman was the girl he fancied, an' a beautiful slip of a girl she
was, jist twinty to the minute when he married her. She was as round
an' as complate in all her shapes as a firkin, you'd think, an' her two
cheeks was as fat an' as red, it id open your heart to look at them.

But beauty is not the thing all through, an' as beautiful as she was
she had the divil's tongue, an' the divil's timper, an' the divil's
behaviour all out; an' it was impossible for him to be in the house with
her for while you'd count tin without havin' an argymint, an' as sure
as she riz an argymint with him she'd hit him a wipe iv a skillet or
whatever lay next to her hand.

Well, this wasn't at all plasin' to Jim Sulivan you may be sure, an'
there was scarce a week that his head wasn't plasthered up, or his back
bint double, or his nose swelled as big as a pittaty, with the vilence
iv her timper, an' his heart was scalded everlastin'ly with her tongue;
so he had no pace or quietness in body or soul at all at all, with the
way she was goin' an.

Well, your honour, one cowld snowin' evenin' he kim in afther his day's
work regulatin' the men in the farm, an' he sat down very quite by the
fire, for he had a scrimmidge with her in the mornin', an' all he wanted
was an air iv the fire in pace; so divil a word he said but dhrew a
stool an' sat down close to the fire. Well, as soon as the woman saw
him,

'Move aff,' says she, 'an' don't be inthrudin' an the fire,' says she.

Well, he kept never mindin', an' didn't let an' to hear a word she was
sayin', so she kim over an' she had a spoon in her hand, an' she took
jist the smallest taste in life iv the boilin' wather out iv the pot,
an' she dhropped it down an his shins, an' with that he let a roar you'd
think the roof id fly aff iv the house.

'Hould your tongue, you barbarrian,' says she; 'you'll waken the child,'
says she.

'An' if I done right,' says he, for the spoonful of boilin' wather riz
him entirely, 'I'd take yourself,' says he, 'an' I'd stuff you into the
pot an the fire, an' boil you.' says he, 'into castor oil,' says he.

'That's purty behavour,' says she; 'it's fine usage you're givin' me,
isn't it?' says she, gettin' wickeder every minute; 'but before I'm
boiled,' says she, 'thry how you like THAT,' says she; an', sure enough,
before he had time to put up his guard, she hot him a rale terrible
clink iv the iron spoon acrass the jaw.

'Hould me, some iv ye, or I'll murdher her,' says he.

'Will you?' says she, an' with that she hot him another tin times as
good as the first.

'By jabers,' says he, slappin' himself behind, 'that's the last salute
you'll ever give me,' says he; 'so take my last blessin',' says he, 'you
ungovernable baste!' says he--an' with that he pulled an his hat an'
walked out iv the door.

Well, she never minded a word he said, for he used to say the same thing
all as one every time she dhrew blood; an' she had no expectation at all
but he'd come back by the time supper id be ready; but faix the story
didn't go quite so simple this time, for while he was walkin', lonesome
enough, down the borheen, with his heart almost broke with the pain,
for his shins an' his jaw was mighty troublesome, av course, with the
thratement he got, who did he see but Mick Hanlon, his uncle's sarvint
by, ridin' down, quite an asy, an the ould black horse, with a halter as
long as himself.

'Is that Mr. Soolivan?' says the by. says he, as soon as he saw him a
good bit aff.

'To be sure it is, ye spalpeen, you,' says Jim, roarin' out; 'what do
you want wid me this time a-day?' says he.

'Don't you know me?' says the gossoon, 'it's Mick Hanlon that's in it,'
says he.

'Oh, blur an agers, thin, it's welcome you are, Micky asthore,' says
Jim; 'how is all wid the man an' the woman beyant?' says he.

'Oh!' says Micky, 'bad enough,' says he; 'the ould man's jist aff, an'
if you don't hurry like shot,' says he, 'he'll be in glory before you
get there,' says he.

'It's jokin' ye are,' says Jim, sorrowful enough, for he was mighty
partial to his uncle intirely.

'Oh, not in the smallest taste,' says Micky; 'the breath was jist out
iv him,' says he, 'when I left the farm. "An", says he, "take the ould
black horse," says he, "for he's shure-footed for the road," says he,
"an' bring, Jim Soolivan here," says he, "for I think I'd die asy af I
could see him onst," says he.'

'Well,' says Jim, 'will I have time,' says he, 'to go back to the house,
for it would be a consolation,' says he, 'to tell the bad news to the
woman?' says he.

'It's too late you are already,' says Micky, 'so come up behind me, for
God's sake,' says he, 'an' don't waste time;' an' with that he brought
the horse up beside the ditch, an' Jim Soolivan mounted up behind Micky,
an' they rode off; an' tin good miles it was iv a road, an' at the other
side iv Keeper intirely; an' it was snowin' so fast that the ould baste
could hardly go an at all at all, an' the two bys an his back was jist
like a snowball all as one, an' almost fruz an' smothered at the same
time, your honour; an' they wor both mighty sorrowful intirely, an'
their toes almost dhroppin' aff wid the could.

And when Jim got to the farm his uncle was gettin' an illegantly, an' he
was sittin' up sthrong an' warm in the bed, an' improvin' every minute,
an' no signs av dyin' an him at all at all; so he had all his throuble
for nothin'.

But this wasn't all, for the snow kem so thick that it was impassible to
get along the roads at all at all; an' faix, instead iv gettin' betther,
next mornin' it was only tin times worse; so Jim had jist to take it
asy, an' stay wid his uncle antil such times as the snow id melt.

Well, your honour, the evenin' Jim Soolivan wint away, whin the dark
was closin' in, Nell Gorman, his wife, beginned to get mighty anasy in
herself whin she didn't see him comin' back at all; an' she was gettin'
more an' more frightful in herself every minute till the dark kem an',
an' divil a taste iv her husband was coming at all at all.

'Oh!' says she, 'there's no use in purtendin', I know he's kilt himself;
he has committed infantycide an himself,' says she, 'like a dissipated
bliggard as he always was,' says she, 'God rest his soul. Oh, thin,
isn't it me an' not you, Jim Soolivan, that's the unforthunate woman,'
says she, 'for ain't I cryin' here, an' isn't he in heaven, the
bliggard,' says she. 'Oh, voh, voh, it's not at home comfortable with
your wife an' family that you are, Jim Soolivan,' says she, 'but in the
other world, you aumathaun, in glory wid the saints I hope,' says she.

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