THE MONKEYFOLK OF SOUTH AFRICA in 



and acted so like a humanfolk person, that he felt as if he had 

 murdered one of his own people. 



The farmer was one of those whose vineyards we had so 

 often robbed, and his heart was hardened against us. The 

 doctor tried to prevent him killing that mother baboon, 

 but he insisted. It was perhaps just as well, for she was 

 terribly wounded. I lay perfectly still, shivering with 

 abject fear. Luckily the farmer had no dogs with him to 

 smell me out, so I escaped to tell you the story of this pain- 

 ful adventure. 



A DREADFUL CALAMITY 



I am one of a small clan of baboonfolk. Once my clan 

 was large. We numbered nearly a hundred. A great 

 calamity befell us which reduced us to a mere handful. 

 Our scouts had been down to the seashore, and returned 

 and gave glowing accounts of the vast numbers of mussels 

 on the rocks at low tide. We were all very fond of mussels 

 and other kinds of shellfish, including oysters, and often made 

 excursions down to the coast to gather them. They have 

 such a peculiar flavour, unlike any other kind of food. At first 

 we only ate them because we were hard pressed for food, but 

 we soon got to look upon shellfish as special dainties. 



Of course when we heard there were plenty of mussels 

 we were overjoyed, and even our wise old chief capered 

 around and turned a few somersaults. We talked the 

 matter over, and decided to leave our present home and 

 take up our quarters nearer to the seashore until all the 

 shellfish had been eaten up. Our scouts said they had 

 already found a suitable retreat in a rocky, bush-covered 

 kloof, which is otherwise known as a ravine, three miles 

 from the sea. 



At daybreak we departed, sending out many scouts in 

 advance. We reached the shore safely after many hours 



