se, 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. Destruction by fire was
not the only means of laying the unholy spirit that "walked" to the hurt
of its fellow-creatures. When a suicide was buried, or when one who was
a reputed witch, warlock, or were-wolf, or who had been cursed by his
parents or by the church, was laid in the grave, it was always well to
take the precaution of driving a stake through the body. Such a stake
(in Russia an aspen) driven at one blow bereft the evil thing of all its
power. Only in the reign of George IV was the custom in the case of
suicides abolished. If the precaution had not been taken at burial, in
all probability when the vampire had already done some harm, the corpse
was exhumed and the ghastly ceremony gone through. And always, so it was
declared, the body of the vampire was found with fresh cheeks and open,
staring eyes, well nourished by the blood of his victims. In such
condition was found the vampire of Melrose, whose tale is also told by
William of Newburgh.

Many a holy man has chanted the Psalms under the arches of Melrose
Abbey, but the vampire priest had never lived aught but a worldly,
carnal life. He held a post that suited him well, as chaplain to a
certain illustrious lady whose property lay near the Eildons, and who,
so long as her Mess John performed his duties as family priest