'Despatch him, then,' Lord Chandos said, 'seeing there is no remedy.'
He was undressed to his shirt, in the cold; a pound of gunpowder was tied between his legs, and as much more under either arm; he was fastened with an iron hoop to the stake, and he assisted with his own hands to arrange the faggots round him.
The fire was then brought, but the wood was green, the dry straw only kindled, and burning for a few moments was blown away by the wind. A violent flame paralyzed the nerves at once, a slow one was torture. More faggots were thrown in, and again lighted, and this time the martyr's face was singed and scorched; but again the flames sank, and the hot damp sticks smouldered round his legs. He wiped his eyes with his hands, and cried, 'For God's love, good people, let me have more fire!' A third supply of dry fuel was laid about him, and this time the powder exploded, but it had been ill-placed, or was not enough. 'Lord Jesu, have mercy on me!' he exclaimed; 'Lord Jesu, receive my spirit!' These were his last articulate words; but his lips were long seen to move, and he continued to beat his breast with his hands. It was not till after three quarters of an hour of torment that he at last expired.
The same day, at the same hour, Rowland Taylor was burnt on Aldham Common, in Suffolk. Laurence Sandars had been destroyed the day before at Coventry, kissing the stake, and crying, 'Welcome the cross of Christ! welcome everlasting life!' The first-fruits of
