“Ah!” said Whiting suddenly.
The path had wandered to the right, away from the sea and towards the bay, and now they had crossed the backbone of the peninsula and opened up the view over the bay. On their right they could see clear down the bay to the sea, and there it was not quite dark, for above the horizon a little moonlight was struggling through the clouds that lay at the lower edge of the sky.
“Mr Bush, sir?”
This was Wellard, his voice more under command this time.
“Here I am.”
“Mr Hornblower sent me back again, sir. There’s another gully ahead, crossing the path. An’ we’ve come across some cattle, sir. Asleep on the hill. We disturbed ’em, and they’re wandering about.”
“Thank you, I understand,” said Bush.
Bush had the lowest opinion of the ordinary man and the sub‑ordinary man who constituted the great bulk of his command. He knew perfectly well that if they were to blunder into cattle along this path they would think they were meeting the enemy. There would be excitement and noise, even if there was no shooting.
“Tell Mr Hornblower I am going to halt for fifteen minutes.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
A rest and opportunity to close up the column were desirable for the weary men in any case, as long as there was time to spare. And during the rest the men could be personally and individually warned about the possibility of encountering cattle. Bush knew that merely to pass the word back down the column would be unsatisfactory, actually unsafe, with these tired and slow‑witted men. He gave the order and the column came to a halt, of course with sleepy men bumping into the men in front of them with a clatter and a murmur thee the whispered curses of the petty officers with difficulty suppressed. While the warning was being circulated among the men lying in the grass another trouble was reported to Bush by a petty officer.
“Seaman Black, sir. ‘E’s drunk.”
“Drunk?”
“‘E must ‘ave ‘ad sperrits in ‘is canteen, sir. You can smell it on ‘is breff. Dunno ‘ow ‘e got it, sir.”
With a hundred and eighty seamen and marines under his command one man at least was likely to be drunk. The ability of the British sailor to get hold of liquor and his readiness to over‑indulge in it were part of his physical make‑up, like his ears or his eyes.
“Where is he now?”
“‘E made a noise, sir, so I clipped ‘im on the ear’ole an’ ‘e’s quiet now, sir.”
There was much left untold in that brief sentence, as Bush could guess, but he had no reason to make further inquiry while he thought of what to do.
“Choose a steady seaman and leave him with Black when we go on.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
So the landing party was the weaker now by the loss of the services not only of the drunken Black but of the man who must be left behind to keep him out of mischief. But it was lucky that there were not more stragglers than there had been up to now.
As the column moved forward again Hornblower’s unmistakable gangling figure showed up ahead, silhouetted against the faint moonlight. He fell into step beside Bush and made his report.
“I’ve sighted the fort, sir.”
“You have?”
“Yes, sir. A mile ahead from here, or thereabouts, there’s another gully. The fort’s beyond that. You can see it against the moon. Maybe half a mile beyond, maybe less. I’ve left Wellard and Saddler at the gully with orders to halt the advance there.”
“Thank you.”
Bush plodded on over the uneven surface. Now despite his fatigue he was growing tense again, as the tiger having scented his prey braces his muscles for the spring. Bush was a fighting man, and the thought of action close ahead acted as a stimulant to him. Two hours to sunrise; time and to spare.
“Half a mile from the gully to the fort?” he asked.
“Less than that, I should say, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll halt there and wait for daylight.”
“Yes, sir. May I go on to join my division?”