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Page 34
Mackinaw Island is only about three miles long and two in breadth, with
a circuit of nine miles in all. It rises out of the lake to an average
height of three hundred feet, and is heavily wooded with cedar, beech,
maple, and yew. Three of its sides are bold and rocky, the fourth slopes
down gradually toward the north to meet the blue waters of the lake. The
island is intersected in all directions with carriage-roads and paths,
and in the bay are always to be seen the row and sail boats belonging to
pleasure-seekers. From four to seven steamers call at the wharf daily,
while fleets of sailing-vessels may at any time be descried from old
Fort Holmes, creeping noiselessly on to the commercial marts of those
great inland seas.
Tradition lends its enchantment to the isle. According to the Indian
legend it rose suddenly from the calm bosom of the lake at the sunset
hour. In their fancy it took the form of a huge turtle, and so they
bestowed upon it the name of Moc-che-ne-nock-e-nung. In the Ojibway
mythology it became the home of the Great Fairies, and to this day it is
said to be a sacred spot to all Indians who preserve the memory of the
primal times. The fairies lived in a subterranean abode under the
island, and an old sagamore, Chees-a-kee, is related to have been
conducted _a la_ �neus, in Virgil, to the halls of the spirits and
to have seen them all assembled in the spacious wigwam. Had some bard
taken up the tale of this fortunate individual, the literature of the
red man might have boasted an epic ranking perhaps with the �neid or the
Iliad.
From the walls of old Fort Holmes, two hundred feet above the lake, a
fine view is obtained of the island and its surroundings. Westward is
Point St. Ignace, a sharply defined cape running out from the mainland
into the strait. There rest the bones of good Father Marquette, who, in
1671, erected a chapel on the island and began to Christianize the wild
natives of this region. On the northwest we see the "Sitting Rabbits,"
two curious-looking rockhills which bear a singular resemblance to our
common American hare. Eastward stretches away the boundless inland sea,
a beautiful greenish-blue, to the horizon. The mountains of St. Martin,
and the hills from which flow Carp and Pine Rivers meet the northern
vision. To the south is Boisblanc Island, lying like an emerald paradise
on the bosom of Lake Huron, and close beside it, as if seeking
protection, is lovely Round Island. Among all these islands, and laving
the shores of the adjacent mainland, are the rippling waves of the lake,
now lying as if asleep in the flooding light, anon white-capped and
angry, driven by the strong winds. Beneath us are the undulations of
billowy green foliage, calm and cool, intersected with carriage-roads,
and showing yonder the white stones of the soldiers' and citizens'
graves. Here, down by the water, and close under the fort, the white,
quaint houses lie wrapped in light and quiet. Breezes cool and
delightful, breezes that have traversed the broad expanse of the lakes,
blow over your face softly, as in Indian myth blows the wind from the
Land of Souls. The scene and the hour lulls you into a sense of
delicious quietude. You are aroused by the shrill whistle of a steamer,
and you descend dockward to note the fresh arrivals.
Several days' excursions do not exhaust the island. One day we go to
see Arch Rock, a beautiful natural bridge of rock spanning a chasm some
eighty feet in height and forty in width. The summit is one hundred and
fifty feet above the level. Another day we visit Sugar-loaf Rock, an
isolated conical shape one hundred and forty feet high, rising from a
plateau in the centre of the island. A hole half-way up its side is
large enough to hold a dozen persons, and has in it the names of a
hundred eager aspirants after immortality. On the southwest side of the
island is a perpendicular rock bluff, rising one hundred and fifty feet
from the lake and called "Lover's Leap." The legend was told us one
afternoon by Hugh, as follows:--
"In the ancient time, when the red men held their councils in this heart
of the waters, and the lake around rippled to the canoe fleets of
warrior tribes going and returning, a young Ojibway girl had her home on
this sacred isle. Her name was Mae-che-ne-mock-qua, and she was
beautiful as the sunrise of a summer morning. She had many lovers, but
only to one brave did the blooming Indian girl give her heart. Often
would Mae-che-ne-mock-qua wander to this solitary rock and gaze out upon
the wide waters after the receding canoes of the combined Ojibway and
Ottawa bands, speeding south for scalps and glory. There, too, she
always watched for their return, for among them was the one she loved,
an eagle-plumed warrior, Ge-win-e-gnon, the bravest of the brave. The
west wind often wafted the shouts of the victorious braves far in
advance of them as they returned from the mainland, and highest above
all she always heard the voice of Ge-win-e-gnon. But one time, in the
chorus of shouts, the maiden heard no longer the voice of her lover. Her
heart told her that he had gone to the spirit-land behind the sunset,
and she should no more behold his face among the chieftains. So it was:
a Huron arrow had pierced his heart, and his last words were of his
maiden in the Fairy Isle. Sad grew the heart of the lovely
Mae-che-ne-mock-qua. She had no wish to live. She could only stand on
the cliff and gaze at the west, where the form of her lover appeared
beckoning her to follow him. One morning her mangled body was found at
the foot of the cliff; she had gone to meet her lover in the
spirit-land. So love gained its sacrifice and a maiden became immortal."
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