Meanwhile the sergeant in command of the second party, being farther from the bridge, had had a few seconds longer to prepare to meet the attack. Before Tom reached him he had halted his men, formed them up hurriedly, and ordered them to fix bayonets. But the time was all too short. The men were still fumbling when the impetuous Wahehe at Tom’s heels had surged from the clearing on to the road. Tom made straight for the sergeant, and thrust at him with his bayonet. The German deftly parried the stroke, but before he could himself take the offensive Tom swung his rifle over and brought the butt up swiftly against his opponent’s chin. The man fell like a log. His askaris did not await the touch of cold steel. Some flung up their hands, others took to their heels, the yelling Wahehe panting behind them. Tom became alive to the danger of his own men scattering in the pursuit and losing themselves in the forest. With loud blasts of his whistle he sounded the signal for recall. Some of the men obeyed instantly, but many minutes had passed before all returned, and the weapons of most of them bore witness to the work they had been doing. Tom lost no time in taking stock of the situation. A few of the askaris had been killed by rifle-shots, a few by bayonets. About twenty were wounded, twelve so seriously that it was clear they could not be moved. Rather more than twenty had surrendered. One of the German was killed, the other lay where he had fallen. All the rest of the column were scattered through the bush. Examining the loads dropped by the porters, Tom found that about half consisted of food, half of small-arm ammunition, both valuable booty. He distributed the bales among the unwounded prisoners and some of his own men, and sent them off at once on the return march to the nullah. For the wounded he could do nothing. He ordered those who were slightly injured to revive the sergeant with a dash of water from the stream, and to render first aid to their helpless comrades, knowing that help would be forthcoming from the western column as soon as fugitives had reported the disaster. By this time the last of the Wahehe had rejoined, and Tom set off on the return journey, soon overtaking the carriers. He pressed the pace as much as possible, though the risk of being pursued was slight. Late in the afternoon, tired but jubilant, his men marched into the nullah, amid exultant shouts from their fellows who manned the defences and the non-combatants who crowded about them as they conveyed their spoils to the village. Tom discovered that only three of his men had been slightly wounded. "Almost a bloodless victory," he said to himself. "What wonderful luck!" But the negroes, discussing the affair far into the night, did not speak of luck. They talked of "white man’s medicine," and assured one another that their particular white man had better "medicine" than any one else in the world. CHAPTER XIX--BELEAGUERED