Each one was eager to inform his own squire of what the morning was to behold, so they awoke Sancho and the squire of the Grove and told them. Sancho was scared that his master might not be the gainer, for the squire of the Grove had been feeding him with stories of his master's conquests all that night until they had fallen asleep, drunk with wine.
The squires went to get the horses ready, and on the way Sancho was aghast to learn that he would have to fight the friendly squire of the Grove in cold blood, this squire maintaining that such was a rule among knights errant. Sancho said he would rather give two pounds of wax to the church than fight with him; furthermore, he said, he could not, for he had no sword, and never had had one. Whereupon the friendly squire told him that did not matter, and proceeded to make ready two linen bags, both of the same size, saying they could fight their duel in this fashion. This was most pleasing to Sancho, until he perceived the other squire filling the bags with pebbles, when he remonstrated, saying he thought their masters could settle the whole affair without their interference. But his friend the squire insisted that they fight, even if it should be only for half an hour, and offered—if he should have any difficulty in rousing himself to the occasion—to give Sancho a few cudgels and whacks to act as an inspiration.
By this time it was beginning to dawn, and Sancho was watching the sunrise. As he looked around, the first object that he saw the sunrays strike was the nose of the squire of the Grove, protruding out of the opened visor of his helmet. It was an object so fearful to look at that Sancho Panza was paralyzed with fright. The nose was so large it seemed uncanny. It was covered with warts and was bent at a tremendous angle, and it hung down way beneath his chin, while its color was that of an eggplant. It was a face so horrible and ugly to look at that Sancho's eyes nearly rolled out of his head. He acted as if he were about to have convulsions, for he began to tremble from head to foot. When Don Quixote beheld the squire's countenance, even he began to show signs of feebleness, but his bravery overcame his fears. He shrugged his shoulders as if shaking off an evil spirit, and was ready for the combat with his adversary.
Before the battle began, Sancho pleaded with his master to help him up into a tree; so afraid was he of this monstrous squire with the awful nose. But while Don Quixote was hoisting his faithful one up into a cork-tree, he suddenly heard the knight approach on his steed behind him, and not knowing whether it was squire or master, and being subconsciously afraid of the nose, one blow of which might have felled him, it seemed, he turned around and made straight for the knight.
The facts were that this gentleman was trying to limber up the joints of his charger—a hack of the same caliber as Rocinante—and was just taking his horse on a tour of exercise, making him skip hither and thither, wherever his master's agonized spurring would carry him. Each time he would land heavily on his stiff legs, and it was when Don Quixote suddenly heard the sound of such a landing behind him that he turned. But by the time Rocinante had completed the turn, which was a movement of much contemplation and hesitation on his part, the back of the Knight of the Grove shone in the distance. Charging by sound and instinct rather than by sight, not seeing whether the knight was coming or going, Don Quixote set upon him with such blind fury that with one thrust of his lance he sent the bespangled gentleman flying out of his saddle, so that he fell flat on the ground, seemingly dead.
Now, when Sancho saw what an auspicious beginning and ending the adventure had had for his master, he heaved a sigh of relief and contentment and climbed down from his tree, approaching the lifeless monster with caution and superstitious awe. But he had taken only one look into his face, when he began to cross himself with so many motions and contortions that Don Quixote thought his squire had gone insane. Turning to his master, who had been contemplating his victory with pride from the back of Rocinante, Sancho begged him to thrust his sword into the mouth of his vanquished foe. Scarcely had he made this suggestion before Don Quixote drew his sword and advanced to carry it out, when the squire of the Grove, now minus the drooping nose, ran forward, wildly exclaiming: "Mind what you are about to do, Señor Don Quixote! That is your friend the bachelor, Samson Carrasco, you have at your feet, and I am his squire!"
"And the nose?" Sancho broke in, unable to restrain his amazed senses.
"I have it here in my pocket," answered the squire of the Grove, as he pulled out and showed him a false nose of immense proportions.
Whereupon Sancho eyed the squire more carefully, and suddenly cried out: "Holy Mary be good to me! Isn't it Tom Cecial, my neighbor and gossip!"
And Tom was only too glad to confess that he was.