of trying siege, thought that the
unrestricted sale of rum among the Indians would extirpate
them more quickly than powder and shot, and at less cost.

There was, however, one British officer, at least, in
America who did not hold such views towards the natives
of the soil. Sir William Johnson, through his sympathy
and generosity, had won the friendship of the Six Nations,
the most courageous and the most cruel of the Indian
tribes. [Footnote: For more about Sir William Johnson
see _The War Chief of the Six Nations_ in this Series.]
It has been said by a recent writer that Johnson was 'as
much Indian as white man.' [Footnote: Lucas's _A History
of Canada, 1763-1812_, p. 58.] Nothing could be more
misleading. Johnson was simply an enlightened Irishman
of broad sympathies who could make himself at home in
palace, hut, or wigwam. He was an astute diplomatist,
capable of winning his point in controversy with the most
learned and experienced legislators of the colonies, a
successful military leader, a most successful trader;
and there was probably no more progressive and scientific
farmer in America. He had a cultivated mind; the orders
he sent to London for books show that he was something
of a scholar and in his leisure moments given to serious
reading. His advice to the lords of trade regarding
colonial affairs was that of a statesman. He fraternized
with the Dutch settlers of his neighbourhood and with
the Indians wherever he found them. At Detroit, in 1761,
he entered into the spirit of the French settlers and
joined with enthusiasm in their feasts and dances. He
was one of those rare characters who can be all things
to all men and yet keep an untarnished name. The Indians
loved him as a firm friend, and his home was to them
Liberty Hall. But for this man the Indian rising against
British rule would have attained greater proportions. At
the critical period he succeeded in keeping the Six
Nations loyal, save for the Senecas. This was most
important; for had the Six Nations joined in the war
against the British, it is probable that not a fort west
of Montreal would have remained standing. The line of
communication between Albany and Oswego would have been cut,
provisions and troops could not have been forwarded, and,
inevitably, both Niagara and Detroit would have fallen.

But as it was, the Pontiac War proved serious enough. It
extended as far north as Sault Ste Marie and as far south
as the borders of South Car