All that I had hoped to find aboard of her in the way of comforts and luxuries was there, and more too. Indeed, if a good bed, and the best of food, and excellent wines and tobacco, had been all that I wanted I very well might have settled myself on the _Ville de Saint Remy_ for the balance of my days. But I almost resented the luck which had brought me all these things--for which I had been longing so keenly but a few hours before--because I did not find with them what I desired still more earnestly: the means that would enable me to get away seaward and leave them all behind. What such means would be, it is only fair to add, I could not imagine; at least, I could not imagine anything at all reasonable--for the only thing I could think of that would carry me out across that weed-covered ocean to open water was a balloon. And so, although I fed daintily and drank of the best, and had good tobacco to cheer me after my meals, my first day aboard the _Ville de Saint Remy_ was as sad a one as any that I had passed since I had come into my sea-prison; for while the daylight lasted, and I wandered about her decks looking always at the barrier of weed which held me there, I had clearly before me the impossibility of ever getting away. Only when darkness came, hiding my prison walls from me, did I become a little more cheerful--as the very human disposition to make light of difficulties when they no longer are visible began to assert itself in my mind. Down in the comfortable cabin, well lighted and airy, I had a capital dinner--and a bottle of sound Bordeaux with it that no doubt added a good deal to my sanguine cheerfulness; and to end with I made myself some delicious coffee--over a spirit-lamp that I found in the pantry--and had with it a glass of Benedictine and a very choice cigar. And all of these luxurious refreshments of the flesh--which set me to smiling a little as I thought of the contrast that they made to my surroundings--so comforted my spirit that my gloomy thoughts left me, and I began to plan airily how I would start off in a boat well loaded with provisions and somehow or another push my way through the weed. I even got along to details: deciding that it would be quite an easy matter to open a way through the tangle over the bows of my boat with an oar--or with an axe, if need be--and then press forward by poling against the weed on each side; which seemed so feasible a method that I concluded I could accomplish readily at least a mile a day. And so, with these fine fancies dancing in my brain, I settled myself into a delightful bed; and as I drowsed off deliciously I had the comforting conviction that in a little while longer all my difficulties would be conquered and all my troubles at an end.