After a full week of relentless harassment, the fanatics finally broke.
Carlos's cavalry had struck their supply lines again and again—never in open battle, never with banners raised, but like shadows that appeared at dawn or vanished into the mist at dusk. Each raid followed the same pattern: a sudden thunder of hooves, the crack of pistols, a brief, brutal clash, and then silence. The supply wagons burned. The mules scattered. The escorts—usually small squads armed with muskets—were left behind, stunned, bleeding, or dead.
The cost was not insignificant. One or two men fell in nearly every attack, sometimes more if the escort resisted stubbornly. But the price was small compared to the effect. Food spoiled. Powder ran low. Morale eroded. Within days, the fanatic army could no longer sustain itself in the countryside.
With no other choice, they withdrew toward Santa Fe de Antioquia, abandoning their forward positions to protect the capital.
