'It is clear,' answered Don Quixote, 'that thou art not yet experienced in the matter of adventures. They are Giants, and if thou art afraid, get thee away home, whilst I enter into cruel and unequal battle with them.'
So saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, without heeding the cries by which Sancho Panza warned him that he was going to encounter not Giants but windmills. For he would neither listen to Sancho's outcries, nor mark what he said, but shouted to the windmills in a loud voice: 'Fly not, cowards and vile creatures, for it is only one Knight that assaults you!'
A slight breeze having sprung up at this moment, the great sail-arms began to move, on seeing which Don Quixote shouted out again: 'Although you should wield more arms than had the Giant Briareus, I shall make you pay for your insolence!'
Saying this, and commending himself most devoutly to his Lady Dulcinea, whom he desired to aid him in this peril, covering himself with his buckler, and setting his lance in rest, he charged at Rozinante's best gallop, and attacked the first mill before him. Thrusting his lance through the sail, the wind turned it with such violence that it broke his weapon into shivers, carrying him and his horse after it, and having whirled them round, finally tumbled the Knight a good way off, and rolled him over the plain sorely damaged.
Sancho Panza hastened to help him as fast as his Ass could go, and when he came up he found the Knight unable to stir, such a shock had Rozinante given him in the fall.
'Bless me,' said Sancho, 'did I not tell you that you should look well what you did, for they were none other than windmills, nor could any think otherwise unless he had windmills in his brains?'
'Peace, friend Sancho,' said Don Quixote, 'for the things of war are constantly changing, and I think this must be the work of the same sage Freston who robbed me of my library and books, and he hath changed these Giants into windmills to take from me the glory of the victory. But in the end his evil arts shall avail but little against the goodness of my sword.'
'May it prove so,' said Sancho, as he helped his Master to rise and remount Rozinante, who, poor steed, was himself much bruised by the fall.
The next day they journeyed along towards the Pass of Lapice, a romantic spot, at which they arrived about three o'clock in the afternoon.
'Here,' said Don Quixote to his Squire, 'we may hope to dip our hands up to the elbows in what are called adventures. But take note of this, that although thou seest me in the greatest dangers of the world, thou art not to set hand to thy sword in my defence, unless those who assault me be base or vulgar people. If they be Knights thou mayest not help me.'