But underneath all this reasonable talk, this scientific speculating, no white Afrikaner could quite put down the way it felt...Something sinister was moving out in the veld: he was beginning to look at their faces, especially those of the women, lined beyond the thorn fences, and he knew beyond logical proof: there was a tribal mind at work out here, and it had chosen to commit suicide...Puzzling. Perhaps we weren't as fair as we might have been, perhaps we did take their cattle and their lands away...and then the work-camps of course, the barbed wire, and the stockades...Perhaps they feel it is a world they no longer want to live in. Typical of them, though, giving up, crawling away to die...why won't they even negotiate? We could work out a solution, some solution... It was a simple choice for the Hereros, between two kinds of death: tribal death, or Christian death. Tribal death made sense. Christian death made none at all. It seemed an exercise they did not need. But to the Europeans, conned by their own Baby Jesus Con Game, what they were witnessing among these Hereros was a mystery potent as that of the elephant graveyard, or the lemmings rushing into the sea.