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THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW
‘Where our Lord was Crucified’
VII. Individual Victims.
Mark 13:12 Now the brother shall betray the brother to
death, and the father the son; and children shall rise up against their
parents, and shall cause them to be put to death.
IN the contemporary history of the times, we have many individual
pictures of suffering and outrage of the most atrocious character. From
these we select a few, in order to convey a clearer idea of the horrors of
this infamous massacre.
The attendants of Coligny and the Protestant gentlemen who resided in
his house, fled- as before stated-
by a window in the roof. A few of them succeeded, by this means, to elude
their pursuers, for a time. Among these was the young Teligny, recently
married to the daughter of the Admiral- a
gentleman of distinguished qualifications, and universally regarded by his
party with the warmest attachment. He had been observed making his way
along the roof of a house by several persons belonging to the Court. But,
although he was one of those whom they had been particularly charged not
to allow to escape, they could not find it in their heart to kill him, so
much beloved was he by all to whom he was known.
He was afterwards discovered by some soldiers in a garret, and even
they, upon learning his name, went away, and left him unharmed. But some
other soldiers, belonging to the guard of the Duke of Anjou, coming
shortly after to the place where he was hid, despatched him and several
persons of the Admiral's suite who were with him. This they did, it is
said, at the command of their captain,- a
person who had been, heretofore, the familiar friend of Teligny. But all
such connections between those not professing the same faith, were now
broken and forgotten.
Among others who perished was Peter Ramus, one of the most intrepid
spirits of modern times, and whose whole life nearly had been as stormy as
its termination was now miserable. He was, at this time, Professor of
Philosophy and Eloquence in the College of Presles, which stood in the
south-eastern quarter of the city. He had held this dignity for more than
twenty years, although the civil commotions by which the kingdom had so
long been agitated had frequently compelled him to retire for a season
from the performance of his duties. He had, however, returned to Paris,
and to his academic sanctuary, on the general pacification of 1570.
Being a zealous opponent not only of the ancient religion, but likewise
of the philosophy which had long reigned in the schools, he was regarded
with peculiar enmity by the adherents of the prevailing faith. It is said
that the murderers were sent to his college, within which he had concealed
himself, by one Jacques Charpentier, his personal enemy. Being found by
them, he offered to purchase his life by the payment of a considerable sum
of money. Nevertheless, he was massacred, and thrown from the window of a
high chamber to the ground; after which they dragged him along the
streets, the body being all the while scourged by some scholars, spurred
on by their masters to this indignity.
Although, as has been said, the victims in general made scarcely any
attempt even to defend themselves, still several instances occurred in
which the person attacked did not fall before he had maintained a severe
struggle with his assailants. Among others was the Sieur de Guerchy, who,
wrapping his mantle round his arm, fought with his sword, the only weapon
he had, till he sunk under the blows that fell upon him from all sides.
Tavervy, also, a lieutenant of the Patrole, when the blood-thirsty mob
attacked his house, defended himself, by the assistance of one of his
soldiers, with great bravery, as long as his ammunition lasted. He was at
last, however, overpowered. Being killed, and his furniture and jewels
carried off, the soldiers seized upon his sister who was in bed, sick and
at the point of death, and dragged her naked through the streets, untill
she breathed her last under their torturing hands.
But we cannot afford space for any more of these horrid relations. Of
the persons massacred, the greater number were killed with daggers and
poniards. These were treated with least cruelty.
Many of those who met death otherwise were cruelly tortured-mutilated
of their limbs, mocked and outraged by torments still sharper than the
points of the swords with which they were pierced. Several old men being
seized and brought down to the river, were first knocked on the head
against the stones of the quay, and then thrown half dead into the water.
In one of the streets a number of boys of nine or ten years of age were
seen dragging about an infant yet in swaddling clothes, by a rope tied
round its neck. Another little child, on being laid hold of, began to
laugh and to play with the beard of the stranger in whose arms it found
itself. But the monster, untouched by its simple innocence, thrust his
dagger into its bosom, and then tossed it from him into the river.
"The paper would weep"- says the
chronicler- " if I were to recite the
horrible blasphemies which were uttered by these monsters and incarnate
devils during the fury of so many slaughters. The uproar, the continual
sound of arquebuses and pistols, the lamentable and affrighting cries of
those in agony, the vociferations of the murderers, the dead bodies thrown
from the windows, or dragged through the mire with strange hootings and
hissings, the stones which were thrown against them, and the pillaging of
more than six hundred houses- all this, long
continued, could only present to the eyes of the reader a perpetual image
of extreme misery in all its forms.*
Memoires de 1'Estat, i. 313.
By the fortunate mismanagement of the person charged with the conduct
of the massacre in the Faubourg St. Germain, the greater number of
Protestants lodged in that quarter of the city were providentially enabled
to effect their escape. Among these were the Sieur de Fontenay, the Vidame
of Chatres, the Count of Montgomery, and many other noblemen and gentlemen
of distinction.
They first received intelligence of what was going forward on the other
side of the river, about five o'clock in the morning, when a man, who had
come across in a boat, brought there the accounts of the extraordinary
state in which the town was. Disbelieving the assertion of their informer
that the atrocities which he reported were perpetrated by the order of the
King, and convinced that his Majesty himself must be in danger from the
authors of the massacre of their Protestant brethren, many of them were on
the point of proceeding across the river with the intention of lending
their aid to protect the royal person and authority. But they soon had
reason to repent their rashness. While about to step into the boats they
saw approaching them from the opposite side, about two hundred soldiers of
the King's Guard, who immediately discharged upon them a volley of
musketry. Looking up they beheld Charles himself at the window of the
Hotel de Bourbon, not only encouraging the soldiers, but joining them in
the attack. He was firing as fast as the guns could be handed to him, and
calling out to the men below, with passionate imprecations, to make all
haste, as the Huguenots were already taking flight.
On observing this they lost not a moment in attempting their escape;
and some on foot, some on horseback, though many of those who were mounted
were without boots or spurs, they fled in all directions, no one thinking
of saving anything else but his life. The soldiers rushing into their
houses, pillaged them of whatever they contained, and massacred, at the
same time, many of the inhabitants who had not time to make their escape.
The slaughter continued without intermission till five o'clock in the
afternoon, when proclamation was made by sound of trumpet in the King's
name, commanding all the citizens to retire to their houses. But at an
early hour on the following morning, the populace, refreshed by their few
hours of rest, recommenced their bloody work.
During the whole of that day and the next, the butchery of the unhappy
Huguenots was carried on with undiminished ferocity, the infuriated rabble
only stopping at last when they could find no more victims to destroy.
Meanwhile the couriers which had been despatched to the provinces with
letters from the King to the several governors, had advertised them of
what was passing in the capital, and directed them to follow the same
course with regard to the persons belonging to the obnoxious faith in the
principal towns of their respective districts. The consequence was that
the same melancholy scenes which had been acted in Paris were repeated in
many parts of France. At Meaux, at Troyes, at Orleans, at Bourges, at
Lyons, at Toulouse, at Rouen, at Bordeaux, and in various other places,
the mob, encouraged and assisted by the authorities, committed the wildest
excesses of bloodshed and spoliation.
After the massacre was over, it became the object of the Court, in
order to rid itself of the odium attaching to so foul a treachery, to make
it appear that the blood which had flowed so profusely, had been shed only
in self-defence, inasmuch as a conspiracy of the Huguenots had been, in
fact, on the eve of breaking out, when its authors were thus suddenly
overpowered and destroyed. The papers of Coligny had been examined in vain
for anything which could be brought forward as affording even a shadow of
proof of this pretended plot.
Another expedient was, therefore, resorted to. Two eminent individuals
of the Protestant party, Cavagnes, a counsellor of the Parliament of
Toulouse, and Briquemaut, a retired military officer of rank, both persons
of venerable age, having been thrown into prison during the massacre, were
brought to trial on the charge of having been implicated with the Admiral
in the treason for which he suffered death.
The judges before whom they were brought in the first instance, finding
that no evidence was produced against them except the assertions of their
accusers, had the courage to refuse to declare them guilty. A more
compliant tribunal, however, was subsequently found. After an unsuccessful
attempt had been made to seduce them into a confession, by a promise that
their lives should be saved, sentence of death, confiscation of goods, and
attainder was pronounced against them.
They were accordingly dragged on hurdles from the prison of the
Conciergerie to the Place de Greve, and there hanged. These unfortunate
persons had been well known to Charles, who had been wont to make them
many professions of his favor and respect. Both he and his mother,
however, chose to regale their eyes with the sight of the agonies of the
dying men. For this purpose the King left the bedside of his young
consort, the beautiful and admirable Elizabeth of Austria, who had that
morning presented him with a daughter, the first fruit of their union, and
also the last. Having arrived at an early hour in the evening at the Hotel
de Ville, the royal guests sat down to a sumptuous repast in the great
hall of that building, the windows of which overlooked the place of
execution.
That the party might have time to enjoy the preliminary entertainment
provided for them, the performance of the fatal ceremony was delayed till
ten o'clock, although the gray-haired prisoners, sitting bound and
bareheaded on their hurdles, were exposed, during a great part of this
interval, to sufferings much worse than death from the pitiless and
unmitigable hate of the individuals around the scaffold.
At last, at the hour we have mentioned, the windows of the hall were
thrown open, and Charles, with his mother and his two brothers, having
advanced in the midst of ablaze of torches, the executioner proceeded to
his horrid task, while they looked on with fixed attention.
VIII.
Incidents Of The Massacre
Lu 21:17 And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's
sake.
ALTHOUGH the general carnage at Paris terminated after the first three
days, individuals continued to be occasionally fallen upon and put to
death nearly throughout the week. After the cessation of the massacre, the
city presented a hideous aspect. In many of the principal streets, the
pillaged bodies and separated limbs of the slaughtered still lay
putrefying on the ground. These disgusting relics crowded especially the
banks of the river, along which a sort of market was established, where
the relations of the dead might be seen bargaining for the corpses with
those who had dragged them from the river.
Many, however, were carried down by the current beyond the bounds of
the city. Between the fifth and thirteenth of September, no fewer than
eleven hundred bodies were east ashore and interred in the neighborhood of
St. Cloud, Auteuil, and Chaillot. More than a month elapsed before all the
dead were removed from the streets; and even at the distance of more than
a year, bodies were occasionally found on the roofs of houses, in cellars,
or other less-frequented places.
The blood of Coligny is said to have remained distinguishable on the
wall of his hotel for more than a century. "There are old men still
alive"- says a French writer in 1826-
" who affirm that they have known persons who had seen and touched
that blood."
The numbers of those who perished in this terrible convulsion have, as
was to be expected in a case so much open to conjecture, been variously
estimated. They have been set down at from thirty thousand to one hundred
thousand. It is probably near the truth to estimate them at fifty
thousand. Those who survived were for a moment stupefied by the blow, and
the Papists them selves seemed paralyzed with shame and remorse. Charles
was as one struck by avenging retribution. He became restless, sullen, and
dejected, and labored under a slow fever to the day of his death.
The lives of the young Prince of Condé and Henry of Navarre had been
spared on condition of their embracing the Romish faith. To this they
merely pretended to accede, as both attempted to escape from Paris
immediately afterwards. Condé alone was successful, and placed himself at
the head of the Huguenots; and this party, which Charles had hoped to
exterminate at one blow, soon mustered an army of eighteen thousand men,
who kept possession of Rochelle, Montauban, and many castles, fortresses,
and smaller towns. Thus Charles, and Catherine, his mother, gained nothing
by their infamous treachery, but a character for perfidy and cruelty,
which has been unequalled in the annals of history.
Some of the most eminent among the intended victims were fortunate
enough, through various providences, to escape the fate which involved so
many of their friends. We have already detailed the circumstances to which
the lords and gentlemen lodged in the Faubourg St. Germain, were indebted
for their preservation. Others were saved by having withdrawn from the
capital altogether, before the fatal day, in consequence of the
apprehensions they entertained, or by having declined to come hither at
all.
Among others whom a kind Providence protected was young Bethune, a son
of the Sieur de Rosny, whom his father had placed in the service of the
Prince of Navarre. He was only in his twelfth year, and as soon as he was
left in Paris, he proceeded to apply himself to the studies suited to his
age, for which purpose his residence had been fixed on the south side of
the river, in the neighborhood of the colleges. On the night of the
twenty-third, he had retired early, intending to rise in the morning
somewhat sooner than usual, to present himself at Court.
About three o'clock he was awakened by the cries of the people in the
streets, and the alarm-bells which were ringing from all the steeples. His
tutor and his valet-dechambre had already both left the house to ascertain
the nature of the commotion, and no one remained within except the
landlord. This man was a Protestant, but in this emergency he earnestly
urged his young lodger to accompany him to mass, to save his house from
pillage, and both of them from being massacred.
Instead, however, of following this advice, Bethune resolved to
endeavor to find his way to the college of Burgundy, the principal of
which, he was sure, would not refuse him an asylum. Accordingly, putting
on his scholars' gown, and taking a book under his arm, he set out. In the
street he was stopped by a party of soldiers, who were proceeding to use
him roughly. But one of them having snatched from him the book, which he
carried, it fortunately turned out to be a breviary. The circumstance
immediately procured him his liberty, and he was allowed to proceed on his
way. He was again detained, in another street, and a third time at the
entry to the cloister of St. Bennet, but he found his book, on both
occasions, his sufficient passport.
As he hastened along, however, he beheld the mob everywhere breaking
into and plundering the houses of the Huguenots, and, with the wildest
cries, butchering indiscriminately men, women, and children -
sights which could not fail to fill him with considerable impatience to
reach his intended place of refuge. He at last arrived at the gate of the
college, but here the porter for some time resolutely refused to give him
admission. He contrived, however, to subdue the man's obstinacy by giving
him some money he happened to have in his pocket, and he consented to
carry up his name and his request to the principal.
That person, with a compassion and courage but rarely exemplified
during this terrible crisis, immediately came to the gate and admitted his
young friend, although greatly embarrassed how to dispose of him, in
consequence of there being two priests at that moment in his chamber, who
had just been telling him of the design that had been formed to
exterminate the Huguenots, even to the infants at the breast, after the
example, as they expressed it, of the Sicilian Vespers.
He contrived, however, to place Bethune in a secret apartment, where he
lay concealed for three days, no one even visiting him except a trusty
servant of the principal, who brought him his food. At the end of this
period, the general massacre being over, two armed men, sent by his
father, arrived at the college to inquire after him. In a few days he
received directions from his father to remain at Paris, and proceed with
his studies, and, in order that he might do so without danger, to go to
mass, as his royal master and many others had consented to do.
One or two others, as well as Navarre and Condé, were permitted to
live by the forbearance of the authors of the massacre. The illustrious
l'Hospital, who, although he continued in the profession of the ancient
faith, was universally suspected to be very nearly a Protestant at heart,
had resigned the Chancellorship about four years before, and was at this
time residing at his country seat not far from Paris.
His friends, apprehensive for his safety, urged him either to fly, or
at least to put his house in a state of defence. But, conscious of no
crime, the old man refused to do anything, which might seem to have been
dictated by a sense of guilt. Even when a party of horse was seen
advancing upon his residence, he would not permit his gates to be closed
against them. Fortunately, however, while these assailants were on the
point of massacring him, another party arrived, bringing express orders
from the King that his life should be spared. On being informed that it
had been determined to pardon him, he coolly replied, " I did not
know that I had done anything to deserve either pardon or
punishment."
The daughter of the ex-Chancellor was at Paris during the time of the
massacre, and she also had the good fortune to save her life, through the
protection of the Duchess of Guise.
Another person whom Charles spared of his own accord, was his surgeon,
Ambrose Paré, who, as already mentioned, was in attendance to dress the
wounds of the Admiral Coligny, after his attempted assassination. Paré,
who was one of the most eminent men of his profession of whom that age
could boast, lived, although a Protestant, in the enjoyment of the
greatest familiarity with Charles. On the evening before the massacre, the
King sent for him, and placing him in a room near his own chamber, ordered
him to remain there without stirring, remarking that it was not reasonable
that one so serviceable in saving the lives of others, should lose his
own,
While the slaughter was going on, his Majesty endeavored to persuade
Paré to change his religion. He is said to have replied, boldly, "By
the light of God, Sire, I cannot doubt that you well remember having
promised, as the conditions on which I engaged never to disobey you, that
there were three things you would never ask me to do, namely, to be
present at a battle, to quit your service, or to go to mass." The
frank and gay tone of this answer seems 'to have put Charles in a good
humor, and Paré was allowed to retain his religion, as well as his life.
The King afterwards came to Paré, and confessed to him that ever since
the commencement of the massacre, he had felt as if he had been in a high
fever, and that the figures of the murdered people, with their faces
besmeared with blood, seemed to start up every moment before his eyes,
both while he slept and when he was awake. On this Paré seized: the
opportunity of recalling the royal mind to sentiments different from those
which had recently possessed it, and the consequence was the appearance of
an edict the next day, commanding all to abstain, on pain of death, from
any further acts of slaughter or pillage.
IX.
Phillip de Mornay
Lu 21:19 In your patience possess ye your souls.
THERE were few who had a narrower escape from the St. Bartholomew than
the celebrated Philip de Mornay, afterwards so well known both as a
soldier, a politician, and a man of letters. Although at this time only in
his twenty-third year, De Mornay had already not only travelled over a
great part of Europe, but had so much distinguished himself by his
exertions, both with sword and pen, in the Protestant cause, as to have in
some sort, taken his rank among the leaders of his party.
Having returned to France from England about the end of July, he
immediately proceeded to Paris to join Coligny and the other Huguenot
gentlemen who had assembled to witness the royal marriage. Yet, we are
told, he was far from being without apprehension as to the designs of the
Court, and felt so little sympathy with the prevailing feelings of his
party, that on the day when the nuptial ceremony was performed, he
scarcely left his lodgings.
On the following Friday, the 22d, he was preparing to return to his
country-seat, and had taken leave of Coligny with that intention, when,
soon after, his German servant came and informed him of the attempt that
had been made on the Admiral's life. On receiving this intelligence, he
immediately ran out to the street, and was one of those who accompanied
the wounded man to his hotel. From this moment his fears of some impending
mischief became stronger than ever. He made his mother, who had been with
him, take her departure for the country without further delay. But he
resolved, notwithstanding her entreaties, to remain in Paris, and to share
the fate of his friends, whatever it might be.
Following the example of many of the other Huguenot gentlemen, he now
took apartments near the Admiral, but fortunately they could not be got
ready for him before Monday, and he was therefore obliged to remain till
then at his former lodgings. On returning thither, at a late hour on
Saturday night, from a visit to Coligny, he was informed of certain
movements which had been observed among the soldiers and some of the
citizens.
Next morning, having despatched his German servant before five o'clock
to the house of the Admiral, the man soon after returned, and gave him an
account of the dreadful state in which that part of the city was. He rose
instantly, and dressed himself with the intention of leaving the house,
but before he could get ready, the mob were in the street, and to attempt
to escape was impossible.
Fortunately his landlord, although of the opposite faith, was disposed
to do everything in his power to save him. He had just time to burn his
papers before the party who had been sent to seek for him found their way
to his apartments, and he was enabled to elude their search by concealing
himself till they took their departure. That day he was not again
molested, but on the following morning his landlord informed him that the
frenzy of the populace had broken out anew, and that it was no longer in
his power to shelter him.
By this time the murderers were in the neighboring house, the master of
which they massacred, and afterwards threw his body out of one of the
windows. On hearing this, De Mornay, putting on a black dress, of a very
plain fashion, and his sword, immediately descended to the street, and had
the good fortune to escape notice, while the mob were still engaged in
pillaging the adjacent house. Having crossed the river he proceeded
onward, not, however, without frequent exposure to the greatest danger.
His intention was to take refuge with an attorney by the name of Girard,
who used to manage the affairs of his family, and who would not, he
trusted, refuse him an asylum.
On arriving at the house he found Girard himself standing at the door.
The moment was a critical one, for the Captain of the Watch was just
passing. However, Girard had the presence of mind to receive him in such a
manner as to occasion no suspicion. Having entered the house, he took his
place at a desk, and employed himself in writing, like the other clerks.
Unfortunately, however, the persons belonging to his household had
conjectured that this house would be his hiding-place, and thither they
came, one after another, to seek for him or to share his retreat. This was
soon remarked, and during the night an order came to Girard to deliver up
the person whom he kept concealed in his house. To remain here longer,
therefore, was impossible.
At an early hour in the morning, he set out alone to endeavor to escape
from the city, or to find some other place of retreat. As he was leaving
the house, a young man who had been his clerk came up to him, and, greatly
to his comfort, offered to get him out by the Porte St. Martin, where he
was known to the soldiers on guard, having formerly been one of them. On
reaching this gate, however, they found to their dismay that orders had
been given that it should not be opened that morning, they were therefore
obliged to proceed to the adjoining Porte St. Denis, with the guard of
which the clerk had no more acquaintance than De Mornay himself, and where
it does not appear that the latter was likely to derive any advantage
whatever from the presence of his companion, if, indeed, the circumstance
of that person being only in his slippers should not rather expose them to
greater risk of detention.
However, to the Porte St. Denis they went, and, after being questioned,
were actually allowed to pass- De Mornay having
represented himself as an attorney's clerk, who had got leave from his
master to go, during the vacation, to Rouen, his native place, to see his
relations. But the unlucky slippers were destined, after all, to work them
the very mischief that De Mornay had feared. They had not been long gone,
when it occurred to one of the guard that this was rather a strange attire
for a person about to make so long a journey as to Rouen.
The man having mentioned his suspicions to his comrades, it was
instantly resolved to despatch four armed men after the fugitives. They
were overtaken near the village of La Vilette, and immediately brought
back in the hands of a mob of the country people, who could hardly be
prevented from tearing the prisoners to pieces on the way. The clerk, by
his conduct, added not a little to the danger. Entirely losing his
presence of mind as they dragged his master along, with the avowed
intention of throwing him into the river, he swore vehemently that De
Mornay was no Huguenot thus effectually revealing who the captive was.
With more prudence De Mornay himself barely remarked that he was
convinced they would be sorry to put an innocent man to death from having
mistaken him for another person, and assured them that, if they would take
him into some house, he would give them such references to persons in the
city as would satisfy them on inquiry that the account he had given of
himself was correct. He at last prevailed upon them to. comply with his
request, and some of them accompanied him into a house in the suburbs. But
now that he had obtained this reprieve, he hardly knew how to avail
himself of it.
At first he thought of throwing himself out of the window, but on
reflection resolved to make an attempt to get out of their hands by sheer
assurance, and, when they asked for his promised references, he boldly
named, as persons to whom he was well known, the Messieurs de Rambouillet
and the Cardinal, their brother. This he did, partly in the hope of
overawing them somewhat by these imposing names, but principally because
he knew they could not easily find access to personages of such rank, and
would therefore, he imagined, be forced to take his asserted
acquaintanceship on trust. But those with whom he had to deal were not to
be so put off. Considering, probably, that an attorney's clerk could
hardly be altogether without some friends of lower degree than nobles and
cardinals, they insisted upon his giving them other references.
At this moment the wagon from Rouen made its appearance. As he had said
that he belonged to that city, some one proposed to stop the vehicle in
order to see if any of the persons in it knew anything of him. When they
found that none of the passengers had ever heard of his name, their
conviction that he was an impostor became more confirmed than ever, and
the cry to have him thrown into the river was raised again with renewed
violence.
Some further contention consumed a little more time, and while they
were yet wrangling, two messengers whom, on De Mornay's reference, they
had sent off to Girard, returned with his answer. De Mornay had written on
an open note to him these words,-" Sir, I am detained by the people
of the Porte and Faubourg of St. Denis, who will not believe that I am
Philip Mornay, your clerk, to whom you have given leave to go to see his
relations at Rouen during the vacation. I beg you will certify to them the
truth of this statement, that they may permit me to proceed on my
journey." Girard wrote on the back of the note the desired
attestation, with the assurance that the individual in their hands was
neither a rebel nor a seditious person, and subscribed his signature.
The suspicions they had entertained were, therefore, removed, and they
resolved not only to set him free, but, by making some amends for the
injustice, to escort him back to the spot where they had apprehended him.
He got out of their hands at last about nine o'clock, and lost no time in
pursuing his journey.
At Chantilly he obtained a horse from his friend, Montmorency, one of
the few who had escaped the massacre by leaving Paris in time, under the
apprehension of the impending treachery. At last, though not without some
other perils and providential escapes, he arrived in safety at his estate
in Normandy, on Friday the twenty-ninth. Here, however, he found his
family and establishment dispersed, his mother having been obliged to take
refuge in the house of a neighbor. In the course of a few days he embarked
at Dieppe for England, and after encountering a severe storm, which at one
time threatened to drive them back to Calais, and the terrors of which
were augmented by the cries of numbers of women and children, flying like
himself, from the blood-drenched land of their birth, he reached the port
of Rye, on the ninth day after the massacre.
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