At the very commencement of operations here, the Indians succeeded in getting an advantage of the Commission. They promised "Bull Bear," when he left to hunt up his people, scattered by the cholera and other causes, that they would hold no council with the other tribes until the Cheyennes should come in, since he desired to hear what they had to say about his people. This was quite natural. The Cheyennes have been the head and front of the offending. They have attempted to induce the Southern tribes to join them and not always successfully. They now want to evade their responsibility.
    So the Commissioners promised to wait until the Cheyennes should come in. That night the Chiefs of the other nations went to the Commissioners and told them that they could not stay. Their camps were filthy, and pasturage for the stock was becoming poor. George Bent and the Cheyennes who remained, were at the council and were told how the case stood. It was decided then to hold a council in the morning, and send word to the Cheyennes that they must come in at once. During the night some of the Kiowas left.

    Among the visitors on Monday was Julia Bent, sister of George and Charles Bent. She was, or is, a homely, fat-faced girl of nineteen, who was sent to school at St. Louis, but run away and stuck to barbarism. She lay flat on the ground, wrapped up in a serape, chewed straw and played the bashful.

    It is the unpleasant custom of these Southern tribes, not only to shake the hands but to fall upon and embrace the necks of those to whom they are introduced. Since, to speak plainly, they are lousy, and have their faces daubed with red paint, one does not spend pleasant moments while thus embracing. The honorable the Senator from Missouri, who is six feet three, was thus compelled, by the force of circumstances, to fall on the neck of a Chief four feet six inches high, producing an effect much like that resulting from Don Quixote hugging Sancho Panza. When the Senator had got through hugging the outfit, his nose was a light yellow, while a red streak adorned one cheek and a few green patches the other.

    On Tuesday, Colonel Wynkoop was examined relative to facts in connection with the Indians, before and after the Sand Creek massacre. What he said but served to put in a still stronger light the infernal scoundralism of the people engaged therein and to show how utterly excusable the Indians were for going to war. He also explained away some of the alleged instances of outrages. For instance, word was sent up to some Cheyennes on the Platte, to come south to Larned and talk. They started, and while on their way were attacked by some volunteer troops. They then went down on the Smoky Hill and there attacked a train.

    Wynkoop's examination was cut short in order to talk to the nations about hurrying up the council. Murphy had declared that they were ready, but it was necessary to wait half an hour for them, waiting being an indispensable part of treaty-making. One by one the Chiefs came struggling in with faces painted red, green, yellow, or clayey; Chiefs with wrinkled faces like Macbeth's witches, and Chiefs young and handsome; men with romantic names like "Little Raven," "Storm," and "White Antelope," or homely ones, like "Stinking Saddle Cloth." There was some trouble in arranging them in front of the tent. Their ideas of etiquette are inexorable. The speakers, the civil authorities, sit in front, and behind them the braves. There can be but these two rows. One Chief after another came up and shook hands, some saying "How," some "Amigo," some "Bueno," and some "How you do?" The sharp, disagreeable odor of Indian diffused itself through the tent. On the outside the Kiowa talking-man was giving good advice to his people, and urging them to consider slowly, and stick to their bargain.
    At last, though the Comanches were not present, business began. Twenty suits were distributed to each tribe, that number having been given to the Cheyenne runners. Then the Indians asked that the whites--teamsters, soldiers, etc., be cleared away, and the request was acceded to. The Cheyennes declined to go on without the "White Bear"--Satanta--and so that worthy came in with his bugle under his arm. Then came Mrs. Adams, a half-breed, and the Arapahoe interpreter. The daughter of one Indian agent and the wife of another, she was well educated at an Eastern seminary, was wealthy, lived at Leavenworth in great style, lost her husband, became poor, but is now living on lands given her by the Arapahoe tribe. The appearance of a woman with a jockey hat and white feather was exceedingly pleasant to the eye.
    Then the Commission went on and told the Indians of the request of the Cheyennes as to the time of holding the council. But the others desired to get through at once. At this moment, the Comanches, who had found their strayed horses, made their appearance. Their interpreter, McCloskey, came in, leading their head Chief, "Ten Bears," followed by "Little Horn," a most temperate name. By this time the crowd in front of the tent was great. The Chiefs were immediately near, while further off was an immense circle of mounted and dismounted braves, their silver ornaments glittering in the sun.
    The Comanches received their presents and the Commissioners went on to tell the Indians about the council. The Cheyennes said nothing. The other tribes applauded the idea of meeting on the morrow. At last the Commission stated their ultimatum--if the five nations could not agree upon a day, then they would treat with each separately. Then came a confab among the Indians, and all the sign language was called into play. Such a twisting of fingers I never saw.
    The Kiowa "Black Eagle" was full of speech, and delivered himself by saying that all loved Leavenworth. He had met Sanborn and Harney and treated for a road. There was blood at one end of it, but Cheyennes put it there. He, speaking for the Kiowas, would like to wait four sleeps before the talk.
    "Ten Bear," a Comanche, said "Mucho Bueno" to all present, and then went on to say that when at Washington he talked with the Great Father and had not forgotten him. Since making peace he had received presents, which gladdened his heart. It was by sufferance of white men that he lived in the country. He had done as he had been bid.
    Then came up a little misunderstanding. The Kiowas said that they wanted all done in four days, instead of beginning in four. Hence, more talk and more movements of the fingers. "Ten Bear" said he spoke for all the Comanches; he was sole Chief, while six or seven had to speak for the Kiowas.
    "Poor Bear," an Apache, went through a series of gesticulations, such as picking up shreds of grass, &c., which meant that when the grass was growing down on the Washita, he hurried up to meet the Commission. He wanted to know about the presents, and was assured they were all right.
    Finally, one by one, Comanches and Kiowas leading, the tribes agreed to begin the council after four sleeps. The Cheyennes said that they had no choice but to submit.

    After dinner an ambulance was hitched up and some of us went over to the Arapahoe village. As we passed over the intervening mile, we saw the hills covered with ponies. Near the camp the Indians were racing up the hill and then hurrying back again to the starting point. While some went up to Murphy's headquarters, the artist and I struck out into the village and began to inspect the squaws and pappooses, the former of whom were occasionally poking about the latter's head and eating the results. This was unpleasant, and such we avoided exceedingly. Others were employed in fleshing robes which were stretched and staked down to the ground. Then, with a curved iron, fastened in a buffalo horn, they set to work to scoop off the flesh.
    We wanted to trade, and so inquired for "buffano"--buffalo. In reply, they brought out the most dilapidated little calf-skins some old and not particularly cleanly. We held out beads, which they inspected, throwing back the coarse black hair from their foreheads, and running from all quarters to see. They were all short and nowise pretty, but exceedingly anxious to steal our beads. Crawling into dirty lodges, we amicably conversed with young women who were anxious that we should stay for improper purposes.
    Around many of the lodges were shields set up on poles, which they imagine will attract the favoring attention of the Good Spirit. Not the least curious among their superstitions is the idea that they are under the protection of some animal--something which constitutes their "medicine." Lo Smith, the Cheyenne interpreter, who has been thirty years in this country, would, on no account, shoot a quail, since, on one occasion, when he went out to shoot buffalo, and had his gun lifted, a quail lit on the barrel. He was frightened and went back to the fort. Soon after two men went out after buffalo and were shot by Indians, who were hiding near the bank. He says that there are many instances of suicide among them--proportionately more than among whites--since they believe that one who dies goes to a better land. They, too, have their somnanbulists [sic]--their seers; and "Little Raven" was rather disgusted when some white man laughed at him for his belief. "Spotted Tail" is about the only irreligious Indian of any note on the plains, and he does not hesitate to avow his disbelief. But they all object to death by hanging, since the spirit goes to hell, because it cannot leave the body by the mouth, the throat being choked, and has to find an exit in an unclean place.

    But to return: In one place we found an Indian artist hard at work. He had a small skin pinned to the ground, out of which he intended to make a valise, and on it, with pigments, wet in the hollow of a horn, he was painting lozenges and wedges. Near him was a square piece of buffalo skin, intended for the door of the lodge. The artist knelt down beside his red brother, and with a crayon sketched on the skin an Indian's head. All this time a couple of squaws and half a dozen pappooses with leather straps around their middles looked over his shoulder.

    Then the crier for the camp lifted up his voice and bade the people assemble for the distribution of their rations. The wagon drove up, and the flour and coffee were unloaded. The braves, mounted, with their women and children, ran to the place and formed an immense circle. In the centre the head Chiefs were busied in the distribution of the plunder. The pappooses danced around, and the women helped in the removal of the stuff. At one moment there was danger of an utter outbreak. Satanta's Kiowas noticed some Apaches coming over the hills, and took them for soldiers. There was an immediate uproar and flurry. The men and women hurried to their horses. Satanta raced up to the top of the hill, saw that they were the Apaches, and by a few words restored quiet. In the meantime, one of the soldiers had been amusing himself by trading with the natives, and by passing off for a ring a counterfeit ten dollar bill manufactured by Boker, or some other fellow, who carries on a similar business. Now, on some occasion, that Indian will carry that bill to some sutler's store, and will be disgusted at the result.
    At night, every night, they have a dance, and the barbaric sound of their drums is heard across the prairie.

    The Commission met at night and finished the examination of Wynkoop, who went into a statement of the burning of the Cheyenne village by Hancock. From his testimony--and he was an eye-witness, and spoke dispassionately, coolly, of things he had seen--as well as from all I have heard of the matter, I am inclined to think that General Hancock acted rashly, unadvisedly, in ignorance of the Indian character, and in disregard of the advice of those who knew more of it. That it was productive of much mischief cannot be doubted, and it is very likely that the General himself would now prefer that it had not happened. In the evening thirty-five Dog Soldiers came in on United States mules, howling and singing. They were a portion of the band who belonged to the burned village. Just returning from the war-path, they signified their intention to encamp a slight distance from the Commission, and asked that body to send them some provisions. The Commission said "good," were very glad to say good, and declared that they would see them on the morrow. This was a blissful ending to the day, and so all went to sleep, and arose, refreshed, to strong coffee and broiled buffalo.

    Early in the morning Chiefs from several Texan bands, who had come in during the right, made their appearance at the storehouse and wanted something. There were Andakoes, Wichitas, Caddoes, Keechies, Wakoes, Ionies, and Towonkany, or the confederated nations of Texas. They lost heavily during the recent war, when the Texans attempted to force them into the rebel service, and, failing therein, slaughtered about half their number. The remainder went up on the Little Arkansas, and have been living there since.

    After breakfast, Major Douglass was examined in regard to certain alleged acts on the part of Colonel Leavenworth. Those statements were not based on the personal knowledge of the Major, but on the affidavits of one Jones, a great scamp, and on the say-so of Indians, whom the Major doubtless believed. Some of the Kiowas are hostile to Leavenworth, such as Satanta, because the Colonel refused, under instructions, to give them goods, since they were concerned in certain massacres. Other Chiefs, who got their goods, like Colonel Leavenworth. Douglass also said that prior to Hancock's exploit in the arson line there was quiet on the Smoky Hill and Arkansas, so far as the Cheyennes were concerned. This injures Hancock's case, though I cannot doubt that that officer acted according to his judgment, and, being no little vexed because the Indians would not come in to treat for terms, held out inducements in the shape of a blazing village. So irritated was he, and so much was his clear mind clouded by anger, that, when Custer reported that the Sioux had burned Lookout Station, when flying northward from the village, which was the immediate cause of his giving the order for the burning, and when Wynkoop asked him to spare at least the Cheyenne village, there being 152 lodges of Sioux and 140 of Cheyennes, Hancock replied that it was impossible for him to discriminate--that they were all mixed up together. Yet to Wynkoop they seemed distinct, and General Davidson, Hancock's Inspector General, had, without trouble, made out an inventory of the contents of each village.

    The harmonious business of examining witnesses was interrupted by a rush and hurry of Indians, who stated that a couple of white men had been having a fight down in the timber, and that one had shot the other. It was ascertained that a couple of these gentlemen of six-mule power had gotten into a scrimmage on some subject, and that one had shot the other through the arm, the ball lodging in his side, where it now remains. It is somewhat remarkable that nothing else of the same sort has yet occurred. But there is time. The train last in brought whiskey, and Satanta, the bugler, got drunk again.

    In the forenoon, too, the Dog Soldiers came up, headed by "White Horse" and "Tall Bull." They said that their hearts were glad to see the commission, and General Harney said the Cheyennes always spoke straight. Then they expressed a desire for clothes, and twenty suits were issued them. Then they said they wanted coffee and food for their wives and children, encamped a few miles off, and it was given them. They agreed to meet in council on Saturday, and then went to the distribution of goods. This was a pleasant relief from making war on the Smoky Hill, and the clothes received will enable them to go through the winter without discomfort.

Source:

Unknown, "The Indians; The Visit to the Southwestern Tribes," Chicago Tribune, Chicago, Illinois, Thursday, 24 October, 1867, Page 2.