of further Indian Acts, whose primary goal was to speed up settlement in the north and west of Canada. The Dominion government was eager to convert nomadic peoples like the Cree and the Blackfoot to Christianity, settle them on reserves and teach them to farm (and, incidentally, to release land on which new immigrants might homestead). The policy was unpopular with native peoples throughout the Dominion. It made no sense at all for the Six Nations, who had been farming alongside non-native neighbours ever since they had arrived within the past century. The new legislation throttled enterprise on the Grand River Reserve, which by now had shrunk to one-tenth the acreage of the original land grant. Thanks to the various new laws, Indian self-determination was eroded. Pauline’s Iroquois relatives, and Pauline herself, were now non-citizens, under the supervision of an Indian Agent—usually a spit-and-polish military type who treated his charges like irresponsible conscripts. The heirs of Joseph Brant were locked into subsistence farming because their new legal status denied them access to capital.
Relations between native and non-native communities deteriorated as rapidly as the native standard of living. The last threat of an American invasion had fizzled out with the collapse of the 1866 Fenian raids. From then on, the Six Nations had no value as military allies for politicians in Westminster, Ottawa or Toronto. Nor had the Iroquois retained the novelty value of being “noble savages.” Thanks to intermarriage and the adoption of European dress, many of the reserve’s residents were indistinguishable from other Canadians. The Six Nations’ Indian Agent had to issue special certificates of identity so that they might claim their right to travel half-fare on the railways.
Leaders of the two communities maintained cordial relations: George Johnson continued to be treated with respect by the Mayor of Brantford, and the chiefs of the Six Nations, in ceremonial dress,always participated in royal parades and banquets. But in less exalted circles, a gulf yawned. Brantford girls would no longer come out to Chiefswood as maids or governesses, because European immigrants would no longer work for Indians. New immigrants, still pouring into the area, greedily eyed the undeveloped, well-forested lands within reserve limits. Violence flared. At one point, a group of Iroquois attacked with pitchforks a newly arrived British family who were squatting on the eastern bank of the Grand River, close to Chiefswood. Intimidated by the simmering hostility, in 1883 the parishioners of Adam Elliott’s old church, St. John’s, decided to move their place of worship from the Tuscarora village to the centre of the reserve lands, across the river. The old church was torn down; the fittings were sold and a black walnut prie-dieu that George Johnson had given the church in Adam Elliott’s day ended up at Chiefswood.
Struggling to find their own footing in society, the four Johnson children uneasily watched what was happening. Even without the tension, they would never have been content to remain on the reserve, stuck within a slow-moving farming community. It is hardly surprising that all four, and particularly Pauline, initially opted for the non-Indian world. They could see that a stigma was increasingly attached to having native blood, and they heard people of mixed blood contemptuously dismissed as “breeds” (for “half-breeds”). But all the Johnson children continued to take pride in their Mohawk heritage. None of them would ever dream of deliberately “passing for white,” although Beverly and Pauline, in particular, could easily have done so.
As the four Johnson children reached adulthood, they remained a tight little group, although the differences between them became more obvious. Bev was a tall, good-looking young man—“the handsomest man in all of Canada,” according to his sister Eva. After he graduated from Hellmuth
Relations between native and non-native communities deteriorated as rapidly as the native standard of living. The last threat of an American invasion had fizzled out with the collapse of the 1866 Fenian raids. From then on, the Six Nations had no value as military allies for politicians in Westminster, Ottawa or Toronto. Nor had the Iroquois retained the novelty value of being “noble savages.” Thanks to intermarriage and the adoption of European dress, many of the reserve’s residents were indistinguishable from other Canadians. The Six Nations’ Indian Agent had to issue special certificates of identity so that they might claim their right to travel half-fare on the railways.
Leaders of the two communities maintained cordial relations: George Johnson continued to be treated with respect by the Mayor of Brantford, and the chiefs of the Six Nations, in ceremonial dress,always participated in royal parades and banquets. But in less exalted circles, a gulf yawned. Brantford girls would no longer come out to Chiefswood as maids or governesses, because European immigrants would no longer work for Indians. New immigrants, still pouring into the area, greedily eyed the undeveloped, well-forested lands within reserve limits. Violence flared. At one point, a group of Iroquois attacked with pitchforks a newly arrived British family who were squatting on the eastern bank of the Grand River, close to Chiefswood. Intimidated by the simmering hostility, in 1883 the parishioners of Adam Elliott’s old church, St. John’s, decided to move their place of worship from the Tuscarora village to the centre of the reserve lands, across the river. The old church was torn down; the fittings were sold and a black walnut prie-dieu that George Johnson had given the church in Adam Elliott’s day ended up at Chiefswood.
Struggling to find their own footing in society, the four Johnson children uneasily watched what was happening. Even without the tension, they would never have been content to remain on the reserve, stuck within a slow-moving farming community. It is hardly surprising that all four, and particularly Pauline, initially opted for the non-Indian world. They could see that a stigma was increasingly attached to having native blood, and they heard people of mixed blood contemptuously dismissed as “breeds” (for “half-breeds”). But all the Johnson children continued to take pride in their Mohawk heritage. None of them would ever dream of deliberately “passing for white,” although Beverly and Pauline, in particular, could easily have done so.
As the four Johnson children reached adulthood, they remained a tight little group, although the differences between them became more obvious. Bev was a tall, good-looking young man—“the handsomest man in all of Canada,” according to his sister Eva. After he graduated from Hellmuth
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