A
crowd of peasants hovered about, and the sonorous Spanish mingling
with the abrupt and nasal Portuguese, the short black jackets and
_montero_ caps, among the hats and vests, generally brown, showed that
many of these men had come across the Spanish border. Here was the pig
merchant, with his unquiet and ear-piercing merchandise, and the wine
merchant, with his pitchy goat-skin sacks, full of, and flavoring the
_vinho verde_ Colonel Bradshawe so much abhorred. Here were peasant
women, with poultry, and sausages, and goats'-milk cheese; and young
girls, persuasively offering for sale the contents of their baskets,
oranges, chesnuts, bolotas, and other fruits and nuts. Here, in the
crowd, was a monk; there, a secular priest, and of friars a plenty.
And here, in the midst of them, were the broad-faced English soldiers,
touching their caps as L'Isle passed among them--their faces growing
broader as they remarked to each other, that there was still something
left of the colonel. Here, too, were the lounging citizens of Elvas,
who might have personified _otium cum dignitate_, or plain English
laziness, but for the presence of some of the gentlemen of the
brigade, who were sauntering about with their hands in their pockets,
as if caring for nothing, and having nothing to do, or at once too
proud and lazy to do it--not much caring which way their steps led
them, but expecting, of course, every one to get out of their way.
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