The countenance of this old man, at once savage and attractive, was furrowed across the forehead with deep and regular wrinkles.

His only garment was a shirt of striped calico.
A sort of veneration with which his countrymen seemed to me to regard him only increased the desire I at first felt to become acquainted with the old islander.

I was soon told that his name was Kanuha, that he was already a lad when Alapai[1] died (about 1752), that he had known Kalaniopuu, Cook, and Kamehameha the Great.

When I learned his name and extraordinary age, I turned toward Kanuha, extending my hand.

This attention flattered him, and disposed him favorably toward me.