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- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
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- CHAPTER LXX.
They Land At Hooloomooloo
“Keep all three prows, for yonder rock.” cried Media; “No sadness on
this merry morn! And now for the Isle of Cripples,—even Hooloomooloo.”
“The Isle of Cripples?”
“Ay; why not? Mohi, tell how they came to club.” In substance, this was
the narration.
Averse to the barbarous custom of destroying at birth all infants not
symmetrically formed; but equally desirous of removing from their sight
those unfortunate beings; the islanders of a neighboring group had long
ago established an asylum for cripples; where they lived, subject to
their own regulations; ruled by a king of their own election; in short,
forming a distinct class of beings by themselves.
One only restriction was placed upon them: on no account must they quit
the isle assigned them. And to the surrounding islanders, so unpleasant
the sight of a distorted mortal, that a stranger landing at
Hooloomooloo, was deemed a prodigy. Wherefore, respecting any knowledge
of aught beyond them, the cripples were well nigh as isolated, as if
Hooloomooloo was the only terra-firma extant.
Dwelling in a community of their own, these unfortunates, who otherwise
had remained few in number, increased and multiplied greatly. Nor did
successive generations improve in symmetry upon those preceding them.
Soon, we drew nigh to the isle.
Heaped up, and jagged with rocks; and, here and there, covered with
dwarfed, twisted thickets, it seemed a fit place for its denizens.
Landing, we were surrounded by a heterogeneous mob; and thus escorted,
took our way inland, toward the abode of their lord, King Yoky.
What a scene!
Here, helping himself along with two crotched roots, hobbled a dwarf
without legs; another stalked before, one arm fixed in the air, like a
lightning rod; a third, more active than any, seal-like, flirted a pair
of flippers, and went skipping along; a fourth hopped on a solitary
pin, at every bound, spinning round like a top, to gaze; while still
another, furnished with feelers or fins, rolled himself up in a ball,
bowling over the ground in advance.
With curious instinct, the blind stuck close to our side; with their
chattering finger, the deaf and the dumb described angles, obtuse and
acute in the air; and like stones rolling down rocky ravines, scores of
stammerers stuttered. Discord wedded deformity. All asses’ brays were
now harmonious memories; all Calibans, as angels.
Yet for every stare we gave them, three stares they gave us.
At last, we halted before a tenement of rude stones; crooked Banian
boughs its rafters, thatched with fantastic leaves. So rambling and
irregular its plan, it seemed thrown up by the eruption, according to
sage Mohi, the origin of the isle itself.
Entering, we saw King Yoky.
Ah! sadly lacking was he, in all the requisites of an efficient ruler.
Deaf and dumb he was; and save arms, minus every thing but an
indispensable trunk and head. So huge his all-comprehensive mouth, it
seemed to swallow up itself.
But shapeless, helpless as was Yoky,—as king of Hooloomooloo, he was
competent; the state being a limited monarchy, of which his Highness
was but the passive and ornamental head.
As his visitors advanced, he fell to gossiping with his fingers: a
servitor interpreting. Very curious to note the rapidity with which
motion was translated into sound; and the simultaneousness with which
meaning made its way through four successive channels to the mind—hand,
sight, voice, and tympanum.
Much amazement His Highness now expressed; horrified his glances.
“Why club such frights as ye? Herd ye, to keep in countenance; or are
afraid of your own hideousness, that ye dread to go alone? Monsters!
speak.”
“Great Oro!” cried Mohi, “are we then taken for cripples, by the very
King of the Cripples? My lord, are not our legs and arms all right?”
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