'To whom else can we turn?'
'There are distinguished shamans who are younger.'
'Oh, Oltungaba, who would dare to prophesy in your presence?' was asked from all sides.
The old man was silent, and looked distrustingly at the excited assembly.
'You hesitate,—when, maybe, the last day has come for many?'
'I am not thinking of myself, but calling to mind the ancient customs. Who will interpret my language to you? A difficult time demands a difficult language, and a painful time a painful language. And why arouse danger unnecessarily? If no brave man is found, must I die?'
'Let us all die! Surely, Oltungaba, you wish us well? We are resolved.'
'Then let it be so,' he assented, after a short moment's thought.
Two of the most famous shamans offered him a shaman's cloak with the long fringe, and a number of metal amulets and musical instruments. Then they smoothed out the old man's hair, and placed a horned iron crown on his head. An elderly Tungus, in attendance on the shaman, was drying a drum at the fire meanwhile. When perfectly dry and taut, he tested its elasticity by a blow with a small mallet. The well-known mournful sound stirred the echoes of the valley, and interrupted the talking. A white reindeer skin, with the head turned towards the south, was then spread in the middle of the circle. The old man sat down on it, and lighting his pipe, swallowed the smoke, and washed it down with water. Then he poured out the rest of the water to the four quarters of the globe, and turning his face to the sun, fell into a state of complete torpor. He sat thus for a long while with bowed head, his hair falling into his eyes, and his look fixed on the blinding white of the mountain tops. At length a shiver ran through his body, followed by a violent sob. The shivering and sobs increased by degrees until they passed into incessant convulsions and groans, in part feigned, in part real. The spectators could be heard sobbing also.
An old woman dropped down in a fit.