On Saturday morning, about ten o'clock, the council convened in a grove of timber on the banks of the creek. The Indians came gradually riding in from all directions, but few of them being in full dress, since it was too early in the morning for that. The various tribes were arranged in order--the Kiowas on the left, and then the Comanches, Cheyennes, Apaches and Arapahoes. But few of the latter nation were present. About 300 of their ponies were stolen the other night, it is reported by Pawnees, and most of the young men were off in pursuit.

was an impressive one. In the centre sate Satanta, and near him Fisherino, who interpreted for the Kiowas. Only three of the Cheyennes were present. In the background were a few squaws, numerous horses, and a large delegation of white men from the camp. The sunlight barely stole through the branches.

We sate beneath the forest shade,
Whose sunny tremors dappled us;

    Senator Henderson first spoke for the Commission. The government of the United States and the Great Father, said he, had sent the seven Commissioners to have a talk with them. Two years ago treaties of peace had been made with them at the mouth of the Little Arkansas, and it was hoped then that war would be no more. The Commission was sorry to have been disappointed. During the last year news had often come to the Commission that persons belonging to their tribes were committing hostile acts against the whites. It had been heard that they were engaged in interrupting parties peaceably constructing railroads, carrying away women and killing and scalping men, and running off government stock and that of emigrant trains. These reports made the hearts of the white people very sad. Some of the whites said that the tribes there present had committed those deeds, and others denied it. Some of the whites said that the Indians commenced the war; others that their own people did it. Some said that those tribes present and other Indians were preparing for a general war on whites, while others defended them from the charge. In that conflict of opinion the people could not find the truth, and therefore the government had sent out the Commission to ascertain from their own lips whether such outrages had been committed and, if so, for them to state boldly the wrongs on the part of the white people which caused the Indians to commit them. Their people did not like war, because it led to pain and loss on both sides; but they liked brave men and truth--the highest evidence of courage. The Commission again asked the Indians to state frankly whether they had committed any of the outrages charged, and if so why.
    Here Satanta shouted out "no" for the gentlemen, who, under his guidance, have been scalping for a year.
    The Senator continued: What had the government done of which they complained? Had its soldiers treated them badly? Let them state when and where. If the agents sent them to protect their interests had cheated or defrauded them, they should not hesitate to speak. The Commission had come to hear all their complaints and correct all their wrongs. The Commission had full power to do all these things, and pledged them their sacred honor to be true. For anything the tribes said in council they should not be harmed. Before the Commission proceeded to state fully what they were authorized to do for the Indians, they wanted to hear from them what they had done and suffered and what they wanted. The Commission intended to be just to the red man, and, if they had wounded them, to heal the wound with full justice. If the red men had harmed the whites, they believed they were just and generous enough to acknowledge it, and to do right in the future. At present the Commissioners would only say that they were rejoiced to see the Indians so predisposed for peace. They were especially glad because, as individuals, they were well disposed toward the red man, and would, if possible, give him civilization and religion, at once. They were authorized, in case the red man wanted a peace, to provide him a home upon the best of arable land. They were authorized to build him school houses and churches, and give him teachers for his children. Agricultural implements and stock could be furnished him so as to give a certain means of support when the buffalo were gone. When the Indians had stated their complaints of the past, the Commissioners would speak again, and say in what road they should travel. They were anxious to hear from the Indians.
    "Gray Head," a Cheyenne, said that there were but two of them present; they could not speak for the nation. They did not wish to say anything until better represented.

    Satanta said that the Commissioners had come a long way. He would hide nothing, but tell all he knew. He loved the Commissioners very much. He loved all white men and all the red tribes. He had moved out of the country to get out of war, but he had come in to meet the Commissioners. He and the Comanches had been south, and he knew nothing of anything bad done on the road. The Cheyennes did the fighting. He saw it all. Had the Kiowas been there he would have seen it and would have told of it. He saw the Cheyennes on the road. Two years ago he made peace on the Little Arkansas, and since that time he had broken nothing, stolen nothing, done nothing, on the Santa Fe road or elsewhere. When the grass grew in the spring he heard that soldiers were coming on the Arkansas. He was not in fear of them, and he did his best to make peace between them and the Cheyennes. All the Comanche and Kiowa chiefs and braves were there, ready to hear the good talk. They had waited long and were tired of staying. All the land south of the Arkansas belonged to them, and they did not want to sell an inch of it. He equated both(?) the land and the buffalo. The Kiowas did not want to fight the white people. The had heard such reports all summer, and, at first, it pained. Now, it did not hurt. He had heard the talk from people before, but it did not come to much. He wanted no white men's medicine lodges in the country. He did not want them placed there. He wanted no schools for the children, but he would have them like himself. He wanted to make a long peace, and was thankful for the presents. All were gladdened by the sight of the presents, and they would not forget any talk which the Commissioners made. Jim Pockmark, a great Caddo Chief and peacemaker, had recently died, and they all felt sorry on account of it. He looked upon the faces of the Commissioners and felt sure that they were big Chiefs. Now, that they are in the country, the Indians and their little ones sleep securely at night. He had heard that they proposed to put them on one spot among the mountains and build houses for them. They were born on the prairie, and lived and travelled on it. When they camped long in one place, it did not agree with them and they got sick and died. He did not want to go south. He loved the northern people and did not like the Texans. He wanted them to hear well what he said, put it on paper, send it to Washington and let him know how the Great Father liked it. He was a fast friend of the whites. He had no little lies about him. He had come unarmed. How it was with the Commissioners he did not know; they might have something hidden, but his skirts were clean. Long ago the lands on both sides the river belonged to the Kiowas and Comanches. Now one could not cross it without striking a military post or soldiers, and the timber was cut away, which made his heart sick.

    "Little Raven," the Arapahoe, said that he was unprepared to speak. His people were out after the stolen horses, and he also desired to await the advent of the Cheyennes.

    "Ten Bear," the principal Comanche Chief, said he was glad to see all present. He had been to Washington and remembered the talk he had there. He had no wisdom, but he expected to get some from the Commissioners. He would swallow it down his throat, and it would be his guide always. Then he showed a safeguard from the Interior Department. His Great Father had given it him. Then he had had a talk which had always governed him. This ended his speech, after which he shook hands with the Commissioners, sticking his nails in the wrist of each.
    To-sa-wi, or "Silver Brooch," a Chief of the Pennetakas, or Southern Comanches, said that his brothers and friends had made a grand talk, but he wanted to say for himself, that he lived down on the Washita, and had come a long distance. Long ago his band of Pennetakas was the strongest in horses, braves and women. The government had told them that if they would settle down, houses would be built them and agricultural implements given them. They listened and settled down. A great many years had passed and nothing had come, and he was getting a little tired. The tribe was dwindling away, and from one of the strongest was one of the weakest tribes. They had become a scoff and a by-word. He would wait until next summer, and if nothing were done, he and his people would go out and join the wild tribes. Ever since the treaty was made they had kept it, and had again and again been sent out after hostile Indians. It seemed as if it were all he was kept for. They had been told that they would gain in strength by it, but every spring they had been weaker. He merely wished to state his and their wrongs to the Commissioner. He could refer to treaties for the truth of what he said.

    "Poor Bear," the Apache Chief, said that he had seen the President in his house, and had kept the word he gave him. He brought that word home and distributed it among his people. Since he promised the white man to do what was right he had kept his word. The Apaches had spilt no blood on the Santa Fe road. He believed that he could control his young warriors--the only one who could do so. His people were few and he preferred peace to confusion. He loved his young men, and wanted peace on their account. He hoped that he would receive his goods in peace as of old. He was tired of waiting, and wished the council over as soon as possible. He wanted the annuity goods regularly, since his people had broken no treaties. He was getting old, and might soon die, and he hoped his successor would live like him. But he could not answer for him.

    After the old Chief had made the longest speech he had ever got off--he broke down in an oration two years ago--he presented a shield to Commissioner Taylor who returned his thanks in a few neat and appropriate remarks, principally consisting of "I thank you." The Apache then, in an embarrassing way, went on to explain that it was his custom on grand occasions for him to beat his shield as many times as he had killed enemies. Would the Commissioner oblige him by going through with a similar performance. The Commissioner blushed, stammered, and requested the interpreter to explain that he was a peace man.
    The Indians refused to understand.

    The only thing that occurred to flurry the assemblage was the firing of a shot by some Kiowa who hit some one of his own people. When the council heard it all half started up. "Little Raven" called attention to the movement of the Commissioners, who explained that it was only one white man shooting another. It was a natural inference, since, in addition to the teamster who was shot on that morning, a man had been stabbed by a teamster for striking him. The wound received may or may not prove mortal. For a peace commission, internal affairs are certainly well managed.

    At the end of the Apache's speech, Mr. Henderson said that the council would be adjourned until the morrow. The Commission would, in the meantime, consider what was best to be done, and whether any change should be made in existing treaties.

    Satanta in his speech said that he would not leave the present hunting grounds of his people. That is to say, he breaks the treaty of October 18, 1865, proclamed [sic] May, 1866, made by the Comanches and Kiowas at the mouth of the Little Arkansas. By that treaty the country lying within the following bounds was set apart for the two tribes: Commencing at the northeast corner of New Mexico, thence south to the southeast corner of the same, thence northeastwardly to a point on main Red River opposite the mouth of the Red Fork of said river, thence down said river to the ninety-eighth degree of west longitude, thence due north on said meridian to the Cimerone River, thence up said river to a point where the same crosses the southern boundary of the State of Kansas, thence along said southern boundary of Kansas to the southwest corner of said State, and thence to the place of beginning. This country, embracing the Wichita Mountains, is reported by those who have been there, to be well watered and good agricultural land. It is further agreed by the same treaty, that until they shall have been removed, they shall be at liberty to roam in the unsettled country south of the Arkansas, which they claim as their own.
    By treaty of nearly the same date, the Southern Cheyennes and Arapahoes have set apart as their reservation the country between the Arkansas and the Red Fork and Cimerone. Until they remove there, they are at liberty to roam to the Platte. With the Northern Cheyennes, who roam up into the Powder River country, no treaty relative to a reservation has been made, and advices just received are that they decline to treat at all at Laramie, unless the Powder River road and the posts thereon shall be given up. The Sioux say the same.

Source:

Unknown, "The Council," Chicago Tribune, Chicago, Illinois, Saturday, 26 October, 1867, Page 2.