Several times we caught a glimpse of the enemy, and one night the hostile armies bivouacked within two miles of each other, but separated by a deep and rugged valley. The terrible march was so weakening us that many officers hoped the enemy would attack at once. But this the viceroy, who was a clever old soldier, would not do. His plan was to wear us down by degrees and only fight at an advantage.
For several days we remained watching each other, but on November 25th the Royalists disappeared, and Sucre immediately made preparations to cross the valley. A swollen river lay in our path; the bridge was destroyed, and there was no material with which to build another.
The crossing was simply terrible. The weather was intensely cold, and even at the ford the infantry were breast high in icy water. It was death to remain behind, however, and though many men, numbed and exhausted, were swept down the stream, only two lives were lost.
On the last night in November we reached a valley whose sides were clothed with enormous trees, and the order to encamp was gratefully received.
"Thank goodness!" said Alzura. "We shall have a comfortable night at last. The trees will shelter us from the cold winds, and we shall be as cozy as in bed."
"Humph!" said Gamarra testily; "much you know about it. In half an hour you'll wish we had camped on the top of a mountain."
"Why?" I asked curiously, for the valley seemed to me a very suitable camping-ground.
"Wait!" growled the crusty old major; "you'll soon know."
This sounded very mysterious, but in a short time the secret was out. We had just settled ourselves comfortably when Alzura started up, and some one said, in a tone of great disgust, "Mosquitoes!"
They were very fine specimens, and, I suppose, exceedingly angry at our invasion of their territory. They came buzzing up in countless thousands, and though many were slain, the slaughter made no apparent difference in their numbers.