At a shout from below--which seemed to me to be in English, and sounded uncommonly like 'now, then!'-- all those fellows turned their backs to me, and began very carefully to lower, one by one, the barrels that had been let down the incline.

And other things were standing there, besides barrels: packing-cases, crates, very bulky-looking boxes, and low massive wheels, such as you often see to artillery.

You know what a vast extent there is of cellars and vaults below your old castle, most of them nearly as sound as ever, and occupied mainly by empty bottles, and the refuse of past hospitality.

Well, they are going to fill these with something--French wines, smuggled brandy, contraband goods of every kind you can think of, so long as high profit can be made of them.

That is how your nephew Caryl means to redeem his patrimony.