An hour later they were approaching the magic isle that has won a fame all its own as a picture of beauty seldom equalled, and never excelled—green with its grass and foliage, and with many snow white cottages and hotels showing through this dark background.
“Did you ever see anything like it?” asked Jack, as the three boats sped onward.
“Never,” replied several of the others.
“I’m glad we’ll soon be there!” declared Nick; but everybody knew without asking, that he was thinking about that beefsteak and onions, rather than the joy of reaching such a pretty shore.
“Look at the old blockhouse up on the hill!” remarked Herb.
“Yes, I’ve been reading up on this place, and history tells about some lively times around here during the War of 1812. Seems the British thought Mackinac a good place to have possession of. They sent out an expedition, and came ashore in the night, surprising the little American garrison.”
“That was tough,” grunted Josh. “Like to hear things the other way. Thought Americans never got taken by surprise.”
“Oh! well,” laughed Jack; “you want to read history again, my boy. But I notice a good many steamers around. I reckon most of those bound through to Chicago stop here, as well as the Lake Superior ones. There’s a boat coming in full of people. The Islander she’s called. That must be the boat going over to the Snow Islands every day. There’s another back of her, perhaps coming down from the Soo. Seems quite a lively place, fellows.”
“You bet it is. We must take a run around the island tomorrow, before going on. Never do to pass this by, as we may not be here again in a hurry,” Herb remarked.
Approaching the shore they began to look out a suitable place where the small boats might be tied up for the time they expected to remain. This was not easy to find, since they had to take care and not get in the way of any large craft that might be going out.