The original Indian name of this island was Mich-il-i-mack-i-nack,
signifying the mammoth turtle. It is a beautiful spot of earth, and its
origin is accounted for by the following Ottaway legend:—
When the world was in its infancy, and all the living creatures were
wandering over its surface from their several birth-places, for a
permanent home, it so happened that a multitude of turtles came to the
southern shore of Lake Erie. They found the country generally level, and
were delighted with the muddy waters of the lake, and also with the many
stagnant rivers and ponds which they discovered in its vicinity. But
while the race were generally satisfied with their discoveries, and
willing to remain where they were, the mammoth leader of the multitude
resolved upon extending his journey to the north. He was allured to this
undertaking by a strange light of exceeding loveliness (supposed to be
the Aurora Borealis), which he had frequently observed covering the
horizon. He endeavored to obtain a few companions for his intended
pilgrimage, but without success. This disappointment did not dishearten
him, however, and as he remembered that the summer was only half gone,
he determined to depart alone. Long and very circuitous was his journey,
and many, beautiful and lonely, the bayous and swamps where he
frequently tarried to rest himself and obtain refreshment. Summer, and
nearly the whole of autumn were now passed, and the traveling turtle
found himself on a point of land which partially divided the two lakes
of Huron and Michigan. Already he had been numbed by chilly winds, but
his ambition was so great that he still persisted in his foolish
pilgrimage. The day on which he made his final launch upon the waters,
was particularly cold and desolate, and it so happened that in the
course of a few days his career was stopped by the formation of an icy
barrier, which deprived him of life and left him, a little black spot,
on the waste of frozen waters.
Spring returned once more, but while the ice gradually dissolved itself
into beautiful blue waves, the shell of the turtle was fastened to a
marine plant or tall reed, and in process of time became an island,
which the Indians appropriately named Mich-il-i-mack-i-nack, or the
Mammoth Turtle.
The individual from whom I obtained the above story was an Ottaway
Indian; and he told it to me as we sat together on the brow of the
arched rock which has, from time immemorial, been considered the
principal natural curiosity of Mackinaw. The following legend I obtained
from the same source, and, like the majority of Indian stories, it is
uncouth and unnatural; but interesting for the reason that it bears a
curious analogy to a certain passage in the Old Testament. But this
remark is applicable, I believe, to the early traditions of nearly all
the aboriginal nations of North America. But to the tradition:—
Very many winters ago, the sun was regularly in the habit of performing
his daily circuit across the heavens, and when the stars made their
appearance in the sky, he invariably descended into an immense hole
supposed to be located in the remote west. But in process of time it so
happened that a chief of the Ottaways committed an unheard of crime
against the person of his only daughter, and the Master of Life became
so offended, that he caused a mighty wind to come upon the earth,
whereby the rocky hills were made to tremble, and the waters which
surrounded them to roar with a dreadful noise. During this state of
things, which lasted for one whole day, the sun shot through the heavens
with an unsteady motion, and when it had reached the zenith suddenly
became fixed, as if astonished at the red man’s wickedness. All the
people of the Ottaway nation were greatly alarmed at this phenomenon,
and while they were gazing upon the luminary, it gradually changed into
the color of blood, and with a dreadful noise, as if in a passion, it
fell upon the earth. It struck the northern shore of Mackinaw, formed
the cavity of the Arched Rock, and so entered the earth, from which it
issued in the far east, at an early hour on the following morning, and
then resumed its usual journey across the heavens.
Many, very many winters have passed away since the last mentioned
incident occurred, and it is true that even the present race of Indians
can seldom be persuaded to approach the brow of the Arched Rock. Never
have I heard of one who was sufficiently bold to walk over the arch,
though the feat might be easily accomplished by any man with a steady
nerve. The shores of the island of Mackinaw are almost entirely
abrupt—and their general altitude is about one hundred and fifty feet;
but the summit of the Arched Rock has been estimated to be at least two
hundred feet above the water. In connection with the above stories, I
might introduce a description of the island they commemorate, but such a
description has already been published in my “Summer in the Wilderness.”