There was nothing unusual in this, for during the delay and tedious waiting, the blacks had constantly been seen making gestures on the shore.

An examination through the glass, however, showed the people on the Ariel that this blackfellow was making such vehement and persistent signals that it was thought worth while to send the boat in to investigate affairs.
No wonder the poor fellow's signals were urgent and vehement; he was Jacky-Jacky, who, thirteen days after Kennedy's death, by devious twistings and windings, occasionally climbing a tree in the hope to catch a glimpse of the schooner, and existing on roots and vermin, had at last reached the goal.

But when he stood prominently on the shore to signal to the schooner, his relentless pursuers sighted him, and his frantic signs were for rescue from imminent peril.

The boat's crew fortunately recognised the emergency, and a smart race ensued between them and the natives.

The rescuers won, and Jacky-Jacky was saved to tell his melancholy story.
There was no time lost on board the Ariel.