Mark luckily had his eye on the brute and protected his throat, but fell backwards with the animal on top of him, receiving a painful bite on the leg.

The monkey then bounded over to his corner, where he glared at Mark, his grey whiskers standing out stiff with rage.

After satisfying himself as to the extent of his injuries, the big pitcher again went for the monk, but the latter jumped from the grating to the piston-rod of the engine, and at every revolution of the screw he would go down into the hold and then come up again, shaking his fist at Mark at every ascent, and chattering like a magpie.

This sight was so comical that the big pitcher roared with laughter, and though he laid for a chance to get even with Mr.Monk the rest the voyage the latter was never to be caught napping, and kept himself out of danger.
Into the waters of the Arabian Sea, blue as indigo, we steamed on the morning of February 1st, and soon after daybreak the next morning the volcanic group of islands off the African coast were in plain sight from the steamer's deck.

Two hours later we passed the great headland of Guardafui, on the northeast corner of Africa, a sentinel of rock that guards the coast and that rises from the waves that are lashed to foam about its base in solitary grandeur.