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Updated: June 22, 2025
The Patriot army was spread across the country for many miles, our post being on a high tableland four leagues from Challuanca. The weather was abominable. Frequent storms swept through the district, the rain fell in torrents, the thunder pealed in reverberating claps among the mountains, and many animals and some men were killed by the lightning.
Then we marched to Challuanca, where Bolivar, being needed at the capital, left us under the command of General Sucre, who had shown himself a very skilful soldier. It seems we were not strong enough to proceed, and as the rainy season was at hand, no one thought the Royalists would return to the attack.
That march was the longest twelve miles I remember. Sometimes riding, sometimes walking, aching in every limb, and more than half asleep, I plodded along the rocky path, dreamily wondering at every step whether I could take another. As soon as we arrived at Challuanca I just lay down on the bare ground, and was fast asleep in a second.
"What is it, Alzura? what's all the fuss about?" I asked, wearily getting off my mule for we rode horses only when absolutely necessary. "Oh, my dear Juan, you will be delighted," he replied, his face brimming with fun. "We are just going back to Challuanca. The viceroy is somewhere in our rear with all his army, and we have to run for it." "My animal is dead-beat," said I gloomily.
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