“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 slowwitted 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 overindulge in it were part of his physical makeup, 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.”