He was not analyzing the reasonableness of his action.

He only knew that every muscle in his body was aching for physical action and that he must have it immediately or break.

The desire was a touch of madness in his blood, a thing which he was holding back by sheer force of will.

He tried to shut out the vision of a pale face floating in the sea; he fought to keep a grip on the dispassionate calmness which was a part of him.

But the ship itself was battering down his stoic resistance.