Ten young men,
"renowned for boldness," were appointed to lay the Horror. They went to
the grave, dug up the corpse, cut it limb from limb, then burned it
until a little heap of white ash was all that remained of the man of
evil life, whose shade had brought dread to all the citizens of Berwick.
But their wise action must, unfortunately, have been taken too late.
Very soon afterwards a great pestilence arose, and decimated the town's
population. "Never did it so furiously rage elsewhere," says William,
Canon of Newburgh, the learned churchman, who has chronicled for us the
tale, "though it was at that time general throughout all the borders of
England." According to him, the vampire had done his evil work. And as
man, woman, and child were carried by night to the graves prepared for
the plague-stricken, there were those who vowed they could still hear
the distant sound of baying hounds, and above them the shrill scream of
the man who in life had seemingly walked so godly a walk, and who had
given example to the rough mariners down at the quay as he daily went to
pray.
Such is the story of the vampire at Berwick, and of the way in which
valiant men laid him. But the old Canon of the Austin Friars has yet
another tale to tell of a vampire on the Border.
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