A certain independent Chief tolerated the presence
on his territory of a plucky band of missionary pioneers. He did not
care about Christianity but he liked the trade goods the
missionaries brought to purchase food and pay for labour in the
erection of a station. These trade goods they kept in a storehouse
made of wattle and daub. But this temporary building was not proof
against cunning attempts at burglary on the part of the natives. The
missionaries at length went to the Chief (who was clothed
shamelessly in the stolen calicoes) and sought redress. "All
right," said the potentate, who kept a fretful realm in awe, "_But_
you have no proof it _is_ my people who break in and steal. You just
catch one in the act, and _then_ you'll see what I'll do."
So the Oxford and Cambridge athletic missionaries sat up night after
night under some camouflage and at last their patience was rewarded
by the capture of a naked, oily-skinned negro who emerged from a
tunnel he had dug under the store-foundations. Then they bore him
off to the Yao chieftain.
"_Now_ we know where we are," said the Chief. "You've proved your
complaint. We'll have him burnt to death, after lunch, in the market
place. I presume you've brought a lunch-basket?"
"Oh no!" said the horrified propagandists: "We don't want such a
penalty as _that_..."
"Very good" said the Chief, "then we'll behead him.
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