Many of the soldiers were bitten in their legs and thighs by little goldfish, brilliant orange in colour and exceedingly voracious. Whole swarms of these little fish came rushing through the water, with their mouths open, showing their broad, sharp teeth like sharks’ teeth. Wherever they bit, they tore away a piece of flesh. They attacked the poor men most savagely.
As the troops approached the mountains, the cold winds began to be felt blowing down from the snowy ridges of the Cordilleras. Soon, violent mountain torrents swept across the Army’s path; and the men on horseback were forced to carry across stream all the arms and baggage of the foot-soldiers. Even Bolivar himself rode again and again through the rushing current, carrying over sick and weak soldiers and even women who had followed their husbands. As the trail began to ascend, the horses used to the level plain, could scarcely keep their footing on the rocky way, and began to flag and fall lame.
The snowy peaks of the Andes were now seen to stretch like an impassable barrier between Venezuela and New Granada. The narrow paths wound their way up among wild crags, and through ancient forests that clothed the mountain-sides with trees so vast and thick that the light of day was almost excluded. At that high altitude, the trees caught and held the passing clouds in their branches. From the clouds distilled an almost incessant rain, making the steep trails slippery and dangerous. The few tired mules that had not perished on the line of march, patiently clambered on. Now and then, one would slip and go plunging over a precipice; its fall could be traced by the crashing of shrubs and trees until its mangled body rolled into a foaming stream far below.
Although the Army was drenched by rain night and day, it did not experience severe cold until it emerged from the forests into the bleak unsheltered passes between the mountain peaks. Then the piercing cold bit through the soldiers’ thin garments. Many who had worn shoes when they left the plains, were now barefooted. Even some of the officers were in rags, so that they were glad to wrap themselves in blankets.
The view of the Andes at this great height was wildly magnificent. Incessant gusts of wind swept the passes, and whirled the snow in drifts from the summits of the ridges. The whole range appeared to be encrusted with ice, cracked in many places, from which cascades of water were constantly rushing. Huge pinnacles of granite overhung the passes, apparently tottering and about to fall. There was no longer any beaten path; the ground was rocky and broken. Terrific chasms yawned on every hand, appalling to the sight.
A sense of great loneliness seized the men. Dead silence prevailed except for the scream of the condor or the noise of distant waterfalls. The air was so rarefied that many of the soldiers, overcome by drowsiness, lay down and died.
But at last the crest of the Andes was passed, and the Army began to descend on the other side into the valleys of New Granada. The descent was not so difficult because the mountain-side was less rugged than the side they had ascended.
As soon as the Army reached the lowlands, Bolivar lost no time in preparing for battle. With his men, he took his stand at the Bridge of Boyaca.
Never was there a more complete victory. The whole of the Spanish Army with baggage, powder, and military stores, fell into the hands of Bolivar.
The Battle of Boyaca liberated New Granada from Spain, for ever.