CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE VOYAGE OF THE SHIP.
When Fritz awoke the next day, however, he could not quite make out what was going on in the place.

There was a strong smell of gunpowder in the air, and he could hear the cracking reports of small cannon, let off at frequent intervals with much noise in the streets by a crowd of boys, whose voices mingled with the excruciating sound of squeaking trumpets and the shrill, ear-piercing scream of penny whistles.
For the moment, he thought he was dreaming again of the old days of the war, and that the confused medley, which became each moment louder, was but the half-waking recollection of the bivouac around Metz, with its many constant alarms of sallies and sorties from the beleaguered fortress; but, when he came downstairs from his bedroom, he was speedily undeceived as to the reason for the pandemonium without.
The captain and Eric had already started off for the ship, and only Mrs Brown and Celia were below waiting breakfast for him.
"What on earth is the matter ?" he asked.

"It seems like Bedlam broken loose.

Is there an insurrection going on ?" "Ah, they're having a fine time, ain't they!" said Miss Celia.
"But, what is it all about ?" he repeated, gazing from one to the other of the smiling ladies, almost bewildered by the uproar out of doors.
"Fourth of July," replied the lady of the house, as if that was quite a sufficient answer and accounted for everything.
"The fourth of July!" he repeated mechanically.

"What has the day of the month got to do with it--is it an anniversary of some sort--some national holiday ?" "An anniversary, indeed!" exclaimed Miss Celia indignantly.