‘Gulliver's Later Travels’ (2009), or ‘Later Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World, in Four Parts.’ By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of several Ships.

Chapter 2

[In which Mr Lemuel Gulliver, following the shipwreck of the ‘Swift’, swims to an island bordered by white cliffs, with blue birds cresting their tops. Here he discovers a worn-out people who spend much of their lives turning great wheels on top of tall poles simply to produce the power to light and heat their straw-bale homes.]   

Having, with great fortitude, escaped the terrible shipwreck, and though I was almost gone, I suddenly found myself within my depth before a beach of flint-hard stones lying beneath a vertiginous white cliff formed of a material like schoolroom chalk. Strange blue birds circled above. On attaining the rocky enclave, and with the storm much abated, I then advanced forward near half a mile, but could not discover any sign of houses or inhabitants, or a way up the steep, forbidding wall, until, at last, I espied a rough wooden staircase that took me to the very summit, where, to my surprise, I encountered a most uncommon vista.

There before me stood lines of giant wooden poles with three long swords attached to each to form a circle at their tops. Some were turning slowly in the wind, while others seemed broken at their hilts, or hung down like cracked branches of a smitten tree. But stranger still, at the base of the towering poles, there were little men sitting on seats with their feet set upon small wooden blocks, which they employed, by means of alternate movements, to spin wide wheels that then, through attached and creaking chains, moved the sword wheels high on the poles - but only where they had not been broken. There seemed to be many hundreds of such poles, all set in ranks, like trees in a plantation, with men sweating and toiling beneath each trunk. Yet other men were climbing the poles with broken swords using long, thick vines, while others were already at their tops, seemingly aiming to mend the sorry sights.

As I approached nearer, one of the men furtively left his seat, and came up to me. He seemed worn and full of care:

“Good day, Sir,” he said, with a sad, wry smile. “You see what the storm has done to our Farm of Wind. So many broken blades,” he sighed. “So much effort to keep our little lamps alight at night.”

“Good day, to you, Kind Sir,” I replied at once. “I am a sailor, lost, who has climbed your great white cliff. What land is this? Me thinks it strange and forlorn to my own eyes.”

“It is, Good Sir. For this is Milibandia, where the only power we are allowed is that of wind or foot. And we are truly wasted with our lives.”

“How came you to this dreadful pass?” I asked.

“A madness fell upon our Lords and Masters, who came to believe that they could control the clouds and the weather by changing how we worked here on the ground. All sources of power and drive were sealed away and forbidden, save only that of wind and footed wheel. Soon, we produced so little as an island that all trading stopped. Now the only work that men can do is turn the wheels when the wind blows either too slow or too fast.”

“How oft is that?’ I cried.

“On these cliffs, the wind blows well for some twenty-five days out of each hard hundred, but in the valley there [he pointed to a bosomed cleavage in the land] it is far, far worse, with good winds on five to seven days alone. And then, Sir, there are the storms that smash the blades, and even uproot the giant poles themselves. It is a thankless task, like that of Sisyphus, son of the King Aeolus of Thessaly and Enarete.”

“But why do you not go back to your older and better ways?”

“Our Great Leaders, The Grodonbrun and Decameron, prevent it, Sir. They tax us even more heavily if we seek to use aught but wind - and straw for our little homes. Sir, I beg you not to stay or to tarry. They are surely mad, for they believe that they can rule the wind and the weather. You should go and use the wind at sea for sail, and not partake of our toil on land. Sail at once, Sir, for, if the Milibandians come, they will surely set you to the poles for ever and a day.”

I thanked him deeply, and bade him farewell. He trudged slowly back to his seat, where soon his feet were once again turning the large wheel.

With the heaviest of hearts, I clambered back down to the stony strand, where I lit a fire with a few scraps of broken pole that had blown, or fallen, over the cliff.

I then awaited a ship to pass the cove to take me away from this benighted place. Foolish is as foolish leaders do.

End of Chapter 2