CHAPTER X.
BEN BURKE'S STRANGE ADVENTURE.
"Take a pull, Roger, and pass the flask," was the cordial prescription of Ben Burke, intended to cure a dead silence, generated equally of eager appetites and self-accusing consciences; so saying, he produced a quart wicker-bottle, which enshrined, according to his testimony, "summut short, the right stuff, stinging strong, that had never seen the face of a wishy-washy 'ciseman." But Roger touched it sparingly, for the vaunted nectar positively burnt his swallow: till Ben, pulling at it heartily himself, by way of giving moral precept the full benefit of a good example, taught Roger not to be afraid of it, and so the flask was drained.
Under such communicative influence, Acton's tale of sorrows and oppressions, we may readily believe, was soon made known; and as readily, that it moved Ben's indignant and gigantic sympathies to an extent of imprecation on the eyes, timbers, and psychological existence of Mr.Jennings, very little edifying.

One thing, however, made amends for the license of his tongue; the evident sincerity and warmth with which his coarse but kindly nature proffered instant aid, both offensive and defensive.
"It's a black and burning shame, Honest Roger, and right shall have his own, somehow, while Big Ben has a heart in the old place, and a hand to help his friend." And the poacher having dealt his own broad breast a blow that would have knocked a tailor down, stretched out to Acton the huge hand that had inflicted it.
"More than that, Roger--hark to this, man!" and, as he slapped his breeches pocket, there was the chink as of a mine of money shaken to its foundations: "hark to this, man! and more than hark, have! Here, good wife, hold your apron!" And he flung into her lap a handful of silver.
Roger gave a sudden shout of wonder, joy, and avarice: and then as instantaneously turning very pale, he slowly muttered, "Hush, Ben! is it bloody money ?" and almost shrieked as he added, "and my poor boy Tom, too, with you! God-a-mercy, mun! how came ye by it ?" "Honestly, neighbour, leastways, middling honest: don't damp a good fellow's heart, when he means to serve you." "Tell me only that my boy is innocent!--and the money--yes, yes, I'll keep the money;" for his wife seemed to be pushing it from her at the thought.
"I innocent, father! I never know'd till this minute that Ben had any blunt at all--did I, Ben ?--and I only brought him and Rover here to sup, because I thought it neighbourly and kind-like." Poor Tom had till now been very silent: some how the pheasants lay heavy on his stomach.
"Is it true, Ben, is it true?
the lad isn't a thief, the lad isn't a murderer?
Oh, God! Burke, tell me the truth! "Blockhead!" was the courteous reply, "what, not believe your own son?
Why, neighbour Acton, look at the boy: would that frank-faced, open-hearted fellow do worse, think you, than Black Burke?
And would I, bad as I be, turn the bloody villain to take a man's life?
No, neighbour; Ben kills game, not keepers: he sets his wire for a hare, but wouldn't go to pick a dead man's pocket.

All that's wrong in me, mun, the game-laws put there; but I'm neither burglar, murderer, highwayman--no, nor a mean, sneaking thief; however the quality may think so, and even wish to drive me to it.

Neither, being as I be no rogue, could I bear to live a fool; but I should be one, neighbour, and dub myself one too, if I didn't stoop to pick up money that a madman flings away." "Madman?
pick up money?
tell us how it was, Ben," interposed female curiosity.
"Well, neighbours, listen: I was a-setting my night-lines round Pike Island yonder, more nor a fortnight back; it was a dark night and a mizzling, or morning rather, 'twixt three and four; by the same token, I'd caught a power of eels.

All at once, while I was fixing a trimmer, a punt came quietly up: as for me, Roger, you know I always wades it through the muddy shallow: well, I listens, and a chap creeps ashore--a mad chap, with never a tile to his head, nor a sole to his feet--and when I sings out to ax him his business, the lunatic sprung at me like a tiger: I didn't wish to hurt a little weak wretch like him, specially being past all sense, poor nat'ral! so I shook him off at once, and held him straight out in this here wice." [Ben's grasp could have cracked any cocoa-nut.] "He trembled like a wicked thing; and when I peered close into his face, blow me but I thought I'd hooked a white devil--no one ever see such a face: it was horrible too look at.