“Here, persecutors, take them, cast lots, we need nothing. Naked we came into the world; naked we will return to the Lord!”
“Spare at least your children, you damnable crew!” cried the captain in despair.
A funeral chant, soft and low, arose within the chapel.
“Force the door!” ordered the captain.
All was ready within. The firing was prepared. The hemp, flax, pitch, straw and bark were piled in large heaps. The wax candles before the icons were so slightly fixed that the least vibration would cause them to drop into the troughs of gunpowder. This was purposely arranged to make self-burning look less like suicide. The children were seated on benches, to which their garments had been nailed so that they could not run away, their hands and feet were bound to prevent their struggling, their mouths were tied round with handkerchiefs to stifle their cries. On the floor a quantity of frankincense in clay vessels had been lit, so that the children should be suffocated before their elders and not see the real terror of the conflagration.
A woman had just been delivered of a baby girl. She was laid on the bench to be baptized with fire.
Then having taken off their clothes they all put on new white shrouds, and on their heads crowns adorned with eight-branched crosses in red ink, they knelt in rows, tapers in hand, to meet the Bridegroom.
Old Cornelius lifting up his hands prayed in a loud voice:—
“Lord God accept us, Thy unworthy servants! We are weak and powerless, and dare not fall into the hands of our enemies. Protect this chosen flock, which follows Thee, the good Shepherd, fleeing the cruel wolf—Antichrist. Save and be gracious unto us. Thou knowest the destinies of all, make us firm and steadfast to bear the suffering. Have mercy upon us O Lord, have mercy upon us. Holy Virgin, we implore thee, have pity upon us; we die for Thy pure love’s sake!”