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4. CHAPTER IV.

Among the Dahcotahs, women are not excluded from
joining in their feasts or dances; they dance the scalp dance
while the men sit round and sing, and they join in celebrating
many of the customs of their tribe. But the Virgin's
Feast has reference to the women alone; its object is
not to celebrate the deeds of the warrior, but rather to put
to the test the virtue of the maiden.

Notice was given among the Indians that the Virgin's
Feast was to be celebrated at Little Crow's village; the
time was mentioned, and all who chose to attend were
welcome to do so.

The feast was prepared in the neighborhood of the village.
The boiled corn and venison were put in wooden bowls, and
the Indians sat round, forming a ring. Those who were to
partake of the feast were dressed in their gayest apparel;
their long hair plaited and falling over their shoulders.
Those who are conscious of error dare not approach the
feast, for it is a part of the ceremony that they shall be
exposed by any one present. Neither rank nor beauty must

interpose to prevent the punishment. Nay, sometimes the
power of innocence and virtue itself is not sufficient to
guard the Dahcotah maiden from disgrace.

And was Wenona unworthy? The white snow that
covered the hills was not more pure than she. But Red
Cloud cared not for that. She had refused to be the light
of his wigwam, and thus was he avenged.

Wenona advanced with the maidens of the village.
Who can describe her terror and dismay when Red Cloud
advances and leads her from the sacred ring? To whom
shall the maiden turn for help? To her brother? his angry
countenance speaks not of comfort. Her friends? the
smile of scorn is on their lips. Her lover? he has left the
feast.

Her determination is soon made; her form is seen as she
flies to the woods. Death is the refuge of the friendless
and the wronged.

But as night came on the relatives of Wenona wondered
that she did not return. They sought her, and they found
her lifeless body; the knife was deep in her heart.

She knew she was innocent, but what did that avail her?
She was accused by a warrior, and who would believe her
if she denied the charge?

And why condemn her that she deprived herself of life,
which she deemed worthless, when embittered by unmerited
contempt. She knew not that God has said, “Thou shalt
do no murder.” The command had never sounded in her
ears.

She trusted to find a home in the House of Spirits—she
may have found a heaven in the mercy of God.

The fever of the following summer spared neither age
nor youth, and Red Cloud was its first victim. As the
dying Harpstenah saw his body carried out to be placed
upon the scaffold—“He is dead,” she cried, “and Wenona
was innocent! He hated her because she slighted him; I
hated her because she was happy. He had his revenge,
and I mine; but Wenona was falsely accused, and I told
him to do it!” and the eyes were closed—the voice was
hushed in death.

Wenona was innocent; and when the Virgin's Feast
shall be celebrated in her native village again, how will the
maidens tremble as they approach the sacred ring! Can
they forget the fate of their beautiful companion?

And when the breath of summer warms to life the
prairie flowers—when the long grass shall wave under the
scaffold where repose the mortal remains of the chief's
sister—how often will the Dahcotah maidens draw near
to contrast the meanness, the treachery, the falsehood of
Red Cloud, with the constancy, devotion, and firmness of
Wenona!