“Shout Kirdyanga!” whispered Taras Bulba to several.
“Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!” shouted the crowd. “Borodaty, Borodaty! Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga! Schilo! Away with Schilo! Kirdyanga!”
All the candidates, on hearing their names mentioned, quitted the crowd, in order not to give any one a chance of supposing that they were personally assisting in their election.
“Kirdyanga, Kirdyanga!” echoed more strongly than the rest.
“Borodaty!”
They proceeded to decide the matter by a show of hands, and Kirdyanga won.
“Fetch Kirdyanga!” they shouted. Half a score of Cossacks immediately left the crowd—some of them hardly able to keep their feet, to such an extent had they drunk—and went directly to Kirdyanga to inform him of his election.
Kirdyanga, a very old but wise Cossack, had been sitting for some time in his kuren, as if he knew nothing of what was going on.
“What is it, gentles? What do you wish?” he inquired.
“Come, they have chosen you for Koschevoi.”