Chapter 70

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