The people submitted, though with an ill grace.
One day A’Dale came and told me there was to be another great burning. We had heard that several persons—priests, laymen, and women—were about to be committed to the flames.
“The people have been murmuring more than ever, and would, I believe, if led on by bold men, attempt to rescue the prisoners. What say you, Verner? I am ready to risk my life if there is a prospect of success.”
“And I likewise,” I answered, after a moment’s thought. “Well then, there is no time to be lost. Get your cloak and sword, and if there is an opportunity we will not let it pass by.”
We hurried on. Large crowds were collecting from all quarters. It is strange that human beings should desire to see the sufferings of their fellow-creatures. Many, however, were going, we hoped, like ourselves, to sympathise with the sufferers, or to afford them assistance. As we went along, we judged from the words we heard uttered that we should not lack support.
I have had so often before to describe the scenes at Smithfield, that I will not do so again.
As we arrived at the place, we found the wide space entirely surrounded by a dense crowd, while every window and other elevated spot in the neighbourhood was thronged with people, who might gaze upon what was going forward. There was the platform with the great officers who had been directed to superintend the executions, and the pulpit for the friars who were to preach, and the stakes with chains and piles of faggots.
We heard it again asserted by other bystanders that two priests were to be burned, and some said there was a little girl. On hearing this, A’Dale and I started, and inquired earnestly of the speaker if he knew that what he said was true.
“Too true, I fear me, young masters,” he answered. “These people would burn infants if they could get no others to burn.”
“Are men with hearts in their bosoms, and swords in their hands, to see such things take place, and not attempt to prevent it?” exclaimed A’Dale, in a determined voice.