Then the men with the prongs began to pile the faggots around him, mingling them with bundles of reeds.
“Are your fagots dry?” he inquired, as they were thus engaged.
“Ay, marry are they,” replied the man to whom he had given his cloak and doublet. “You shall not be long a-burning, I’ll warrant you.”
When sufficient fagots had been heaped around him, Sheriff Woodrooffe called for torches, which were brought, but ere they could be applied, the priest again interposed.
“Hold yet a moment,” he exclaimed.
Then advancing towards the martyr, who, chained to the stake and half covered by the fagots, regarded him steadily, he displayed a warrant to him, and said, “Here is the Queen’s pardon. Recant, I conjure thee, and thou shalt be spared.”
“Away with thee, tempter!” exclaimed Rogers. “I take you all to witness,” he added, with a loud voice, “that I die in the Protestant faith.”
“Kindle the pile instantly!” vociferated the sheriff.
Three blazing torches were then applied to the bundles of reeds, and the next moment the flames leaped up and enveloped the martyr.
Many of the beholders shouted and exulted at the terrific spectacle, but groans and lamentations burst from others.