The Annamits,
believing that it had not been noticed, went on as blithely as before and
volubly denied that anything had been lost. We stopped the unloading
instantly and sent for divers. The box had sunk in thirty feet of muddy
water and it seemed useless to hope that it could ever be recovered, but
the divers went to work by dropping a heavy stone on the end of a rope and
going down it hand over hand.

After two hours the box was located and brought dripping to the surface.
Fortunately but little of the ammunition was ruined, and most of it was
dried during the night in the engine room. Because of this delay we had to
leave Haiphong on the following day, and with Captain Trowbridge, we went
by train to Hanoi, the capital of the colony.

Hanoi is a city of delightful surprises. It has broad, clean streets,
overhung with trees which often form a cool green canopy overhead,
beautiful lawns and well-kept houses, and in the center of the town is a
lovely lake surrounded by a wide border of palms. At the far end, like a
jewel in a crystal setting, seems to float a white pagoda, an outpost of
the temple which stands in the midst of a watery meadow of lotos plants.
The city shops are excellent, but in most instances the prices are
exceedingly high.

Like all the French towns in the Orient the hours for work are rather
confusing to the foreigner. The shops open at 6:30 in the morning and close
at 11 o'clock to reopen again at 3 in the afternoon and continue business
until 7:30 or 8 o'clock in the evening. During the middle of the day all
houses have the shutters closely drawn, and because of the intense heat and
glare of the sun the streets are absolutely deserted, not even a native
being visible. In the morning a _petit dejeuner_, remarkable especially for
its "petitness," is served, and a real _dejeuner_ comes later anywhere from
10 to 12:30.

About 6 o'clock in the evening the open _cafes_ and restaurants along the
sidewalk are lined with groups of men and women playing cards and dice and
drinking gin and bitters, vermouth or absinthe. There is an air of
happiness and life about Hanoi which is typically Parisian and even during
war time it is a city of gayety. An immense theater stands in the center of
the town, but has not been opened since the beginning of the war.

We had letters to M. Chemein Dupontes, the director of the railroads, as
well as to the Lieutenant-Governor and other officials. Without exception
we we