Only the determined stand taken by the small group that rallied to Percival's support kept the maddened crowd from seeking out these men and rending them limb from limb.

The sailors from the Doraine were the first to listen to the pleas of the level-headed,--just as they had been the first to demand the lives of Manuel Crust and his gang.
Individually they were rough men and lawless, collectively they were the slaves of discipline.

It was to their vanity that Percival and the others appealed,--only they called it honour instead of vanity.

The mob spirit was--quelled for the time being, at least.

No one was so foolish as to believe that it was dead, however.