'What an energetic old woman!'

'Formerly all the Tungus women were like that.'

'So they say--'

'Look how cleverly she manages her reindeer.'

'That's one good thing, but they say that she bore a son to Seltichan not long ago, and that's better still.'

'There's nothing wonderful in that; Majantylan's wife is older, and she also bore--'

'Hush! Look, there is Sala, the old man's daughter-in-law, about whom they sing songs.'

'But is she not worthy of them?'

'Yes, indeed!'

'You may chatter away, but if Miore hears you, he will give it you!'

'What can he do to us? I am not afraid of him.'

'Look,--look!--Laubzal!--Zleci!'

'Actually!--What a wild reindeer!--They needn't have put a little boy on it!'

'He's a plucky lad! Look!--The old man will be delighted with him!'

'And Chun-Me!'

'Ah! Chun-Me! Chun-Me!' several sighed, their glances seeking the girl with the steel-coloured fringe on her head.

'They say that the Kniaz wants to win her for his son.'

'Eh, the old man won't give him his favourite daughter,--not he!'

When Seltichan's eldest son rode by,--a famous hunter, commonly known by the name of 'Sparkling Ice,'--conversation was hushed out of respect to him.

And when the last reindeer of the caravan had disappeared into the bushes, and the branches closed swinging behind it, Seltichan rose from his seat and went away, taking leave of the company with a slight nod. This was to indicate that he was expecting them all to come to him shortly.

That evening there was a crowd round the old man's tent, for nearly all the temporary inhabitants of the valley were present. The host gave orders for several reindeer to be killed, and welcomed his guests. With the light-heartedness of true Tungus, they forgot their sufferings in satisfying their hunger after their long fast, and began to dance and join in cheerful songs.

The old men sitting by the fire watched the younger ones with enjoyment, and beat time with their heads, repeating the refrains.

'What do you think, Oltungaba, will the G.o.d withdraw his punishing hand, and allow joy to return to the mountains?' Seltichan asked, turning to one of the guests, the old man who was as dark as copper, and as wrinkled as moss.

'Our life, Seltichan, is a shadow falling upon the water,' Oltungaba answered meditatively.

The following morning the people in the valley awoke in an unusually solemn mood. The day proclaimed itself rich in events. The weather was exquisite, the sky clear and blue, without a trace of cloud.

Having a.s.sembled at the conference, the older and prominent members of families took their places in the front row, the younger ones behind them, and the women and children still further off, beyond the edge of the circle. Oltungaba, yielding to numerous entreaties, walked into the centre, and bowing, said:

'Why do you ask this of me, regardless of my old age?'

'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 a.s.sembly.

'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 a.s.sented, 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 pa.s.sed 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.

At the same moment a fleeting, dark shadow fell on the ground close to the shaman: an eagle was hovering between him and the sun. A piercing cry rent the air, and the people bent like gra.s.s before the gale.

Who cried? The shaman or the eagle?

No one knew.

'It is bad, it is bad,' the people murmured.

'Hush!'

The drum sounded several times with a deep and mournful echo, as the crowd was frightened into silence.--The eagle flew away into the distance.

Once more there was stillness, interrupted only by the shaman's muttering. After a while isolated sounds, coming, as it seemed, from the distant wood and depths of the mountain clefts, began to mingle, like the murmur of a swarm of bees, or the twitter of birds calling to one another. Then Oltungaba shook his bells. By degrees these sounds grew louder, and came nearer, until they pa.s.sed away in the roar of the waterfall and the splash of the rain which was now falling in torrents. Yet deep and painful sighs, repeated more and more frequently, could be heard above the rush of the water. Oltungaba suddenly raised the drum above his head. Trembling violently, and covered with the pelting hail, he began to utter frightened sounds, like a sheep chased by a wolf. Then, all at once, throwing his hand into the soft reindeer skin, he became silent, but continued to tremble.

'Oh, Goloron!' the shaman groaned, hiding his face with his hands.

And there was stillness once more. Nothing was heard but the shaman's sobs and indistinct mutterings, accompanied by the beating of the drum. Above these sounds rose the intermingled cries of eagles, hawks, crows, and lapwings, which appeared to be circling in flights round the mountain tops. Their shrieking and cawing alternated with the shaman's unintelligible incantations. It almost seemed as if they foresaw some dreadful event, and were hastening to bring news of it in advance to the lords of the erial world.

By degrees the incantations became more distinct, the words more intelligible, till finally the first strophe of a chant burst from the shaman's lips.

'Do ye hear the roar of the sea?'