Although the clergy had been unfortunate in the affair of Hun, and exposed themselves to shame and reproach, they were by no means discouraged in their cruel course of persecution. There were many sufferers and martyrs about this time, according to our English martyrologist.
In the spring of 1517-the year in which Luther nailed his theses to the church door-John Brown of Ashford, an intelligent Christian, happened to seat himself beside a priest in the Gravesend passage-boat. "Dost thou know who I am?" said the priest, in the most haughty manner. "No, sir," said Brown. "Well then, you must know that I am a priest; you are too near me." "Indeed, sir! are you a parson, or vicar, or lady's chaplain?" "No; I am a soul-priest; I sing mass to save souls." "Do you, sir," rejoined Brown, "that is well done: and can you tell me where you find the soul when you begin the mass?" "I cannot," said the priest. "And where do you leave it, pray, when the mass is ended?" "I do not know," said the priest. "What!" continued Brown, "you do not know where you find the soul or where you leave it, and yet you say that you save it!" "Go thy ways," said the priest angrily; "thou art a heretic, and I will be even with thee."
As soon as the priest landed at Gravesend, he rode off to Canterbury, and denounced Brown to the archbishop. In three days after this conversation, as Brown sat at dinner with his family, the officers of Warham entered, dragged the man from his house, tied him on horseback, and rode off quickly. The heart-rending cries of his wife and children were of no avail. The primate's officers were too well acquainted with such tears and cries to be moved to pity. Brown was thrown into prison, and there he lay forty days, during which time his family knew not where he was, or what had been done to him. At the end of that time he was brought up for trial before the archbishop of Canterbury, and the bishop of Rochester. He was required to retract his "blasphemy." "Christ was once offered," said Brown, "to bear the sins of many, and it is by this sacrifice we are saved, not by the repetitions of the priests." At this reply the archbishop made a sign to the executioners, who immediately took off the shoes and stockings of the pious Christian, and placed his bare feet on a pan of burning coals. This heartless cruelty was in direct violation of the English laws which forbade torture to be inflicted on any subject of the crown, but the clergy thought themselves above the laws. "Confess the efficacy of the mass," cried the two bishops to the sufferer. "If I deny my Lord upon earth," he replied, "He will deny me before his Father in heaven." The flesh was burnt off the soles of his feet even to the bones, and still John Brown remained firm and unshaken. The bishops feeling their utter weakness in the presence of divine strength, ordered him to be burnt alive-the last act of human cruelty.
The martyr was led back to Ashford. The servant of the family happening to be out when he arrived, saw him, and running back, rushed into the house, exclaiming, "I have seen him! I have seen him!" His poor wife hastened to see him; he was so tightly bound in the stocks, that he could hardly move even his head, in speaking to his wife. She sat down beside him: his features were changed by suffering; her tears and distress must remain forever untold. He thanked the Lord for sustaining him under the torture, and for enabling him to confess his faith in the blessed Lord Jesus; and exhorted his good wife Elizabeth to continue as she had begun-to love the Lord, for He is good, and to bring up the children for Him.
The following morning, being Whitsunday, he was taken out of the stocks and bound to the stake. His wife, his daughter Alice, and his other children, with some friends, gathered round the fagots to receive his farewell blessing.
He sang a hymn while the flames were playing around him, but feeling that the fire had nearly done its work, he breathed out the prayer of his Lord and Master; "Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit," adding, "Thou hast redeemed me, O God of truth." The martyr was now silent; but redoubled cries of anguish rent the air. His wife and daughter seemed as if they would lose their senses. The spectators moved with compassion, deeply sympathized with the distracted family, but scowled with indignation on the executioners. "Come," said Chilton, a brutal officer, "let us cast the heretic's children into the fire, lest they, too, should become heretics. So saying, he rushed towards Alice, but the maiden ran off, screaming with fright, and escaped the ruffian."
Such were the servants of the archbishop, and such the heart-rending scenes in England, down to the time of Luther, and the reign of Henry VIII., to which we must now turn.