“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.”

A well-earned night’s sleep, bathed in this highly ozoned lake atmosphere, which magically soothes every nerve and refreshes every sense like an elixir, and we are off again on the broad bosom of the Mackinaw strait, threading a verdant labyrinth of emerald islets and following the course of Father Jacques Marquette, who two hundred years before us had set off from the island in two canoes, with his friend Louis Joliet, to explore and Christianize the region of the Mississippi.  We looked back upon the Fairy Island with regretful eyes, and as it sunk into the lake Hugh repeated the lines of the poet:—­

  “A gem amid gems, set in blue yielding waters,
  Is Mackinac Island with cliffs girded round,
  For her eagle-plumed braves and her true-hearted daughters;
  Long, long ere the pale face came widely renowned.

  “Tradition invests thee with Spirit and Fairy;
  Thy dead soldiers’ sleep shall no drum-beat awake,
  While about thee the cool winds do lovingly tarry
  And kiss thy green brows with the breath of the lake.

  “Thy memory shall haunt me wherever life reaches,
  Thy day-dreams of fancy, thy night’s balmy sleep,
  The plash of thy waters along the smooth beaches,
  The shade of thine evergreens, grateful and deep.