Don Quixote, hearing it, said, "What noise is that, Sancho?"
"I don't know, senor," said he; "it must be something new, for adventures
and misadventures never begin with a trifle." Once more he tried his
luck, and succeeded so well, that without any further noise or
disturbance he found himself relieved of the burden that had given him so
much discomfort. But as Don Quixote's sense of smell was as acute as his
hearing, and as Sancho was so closely linked with him that the fumes rose
almost in a straight line, it could not be but that some should reach his
nose, and as soon as they did he came to its relief by compressing it
between his fingers, saying in a rather snuffing tone, "Sancho, it
strikes me thou art in great fear."
"I am," answered Sancho; "but how does your worship perceive it now more
than ever?"
"Because just now thou smellest stronger than ever, and not of
ambergris," answered Don Quixote.
"Very likely," said Sancho, "but that's not my fault, but your worship's,
for leading me about at unseasonable hours and at such unwonted paces."
"Then go back three or four, my friend," said Don Quixote, all the time
with his fingers to his nose; "and for the future pay more attention to
thy person and to what thou owest to mine; for it is my great familiarity
with thee that has bred this contempt."
"I'll bet," replied Sancho, "that your worship thinks I have done
something I ought not with my person."
"It makes it worse to stir it, friend Sancho," returned Don Quixote.
With this and other talk of the same sort master and man passed the
night, till Sancho, perceiving that daybreak was coming on apace, very
cautiously untied Rocinante and tied up his breeches. As soon as
Rocinante found himself free, though by nature he was not at all
mettlesome, he seemed to feel lively and began pawing--for as to
capering, begging his pardon, he knew not what it meant. Don Quixote,
then, observing that Rocinante could move, took it as a good sign and a
signal that he should attempt the dread adventure. By this time day had
fully broken and everything showed distinctly, and Don Quixote saw that
he was among some tall trees, chestnuts, which cast a very deep shade; he
perceived likewise that the sound of the strokes did not cease, but could
not discover what caused it, and so without any further delay he let
Rocinante feel the spur, and once more taking leave of Sancho, he told
him to wait for him there three days at most, as he had said before, and
if he should not have returned by that time, he might feel sure it had
been God's will that he should end his days in that perilous adventure.
He again repeated the message and commission with which he was to go on
his behalf to his lady Dulcinea, and said he was not to be uneasy as to
the payment of his services, for before leaving home he had made his
will, in which he would find himself fully recompensed in the matter of
wages in due proportion to the time he had served; but if God delivered
him safe, sound, and unhurt out of that danger, he might look upon the
promised island as much more than certain. Sancho began to weep afresh on
again hearing the affecting words of his good master, and resolved to
stay with him until the final issue and end of the business. From these
tears and this honourable resolve of Sancho Panza's the author of this
history infers that he must have been of good birth and at least an old
Christian; and the feeling he displayed touched his but not so much as to
make him show any weakness; on the contrary, hiding what he felt as well
as he could, he began to move towards that quarter whence the sound of
the water and of the strokes seemed to come.