March 12th, 1866.—Last night Aunt Sue asked me to dress early and take charge of her little boys until the company arrived. She likes them to appear in the parlor and it is an easy matter to amuse them and keep them “spick and span.” It was cold and windy last night and I proposed to them to sit beside the fire and listen to some fairy tales. This they were ready to do and we were sitting there, deep in the thrilling story of “Beauty and the Beast,” when Jack opened the door and announced the first arrivals.
In came Mr. Bumford, Mr. Wessels and Mr. Coolidge, I do not know if they came together but there they were. I looked up and spoke and the children clamored for the rest of the story.
It was soon finished and then Mr. Wessels stood before me and said, “I have something here Miss Bradford, which may be of interest to you.”
As he spoke he laid across my lap a Harper’s Weekly, opened to its fullest extent. I am a trifle near-sighted and I did not at first take it in, but presently I saw what it was. A caricature of our beloved President Jefferson Davis, dressed in woman’s clothes, a large hoop-skirt had tripped him up and a huge, booted leg was showing through the hoops. The face was unmistakable and I gazed as if fascinated.
It was hard to realize that such an insult should be offered to me. I cannot speak when I am angry. I can only cry and there I sat, the tears rolling down my face. I do not believe either of the others had an idea of what he was doing, for Mr. Coolidge came and looked over my shoulder. Seizing the paper, he crushed it in his hands and throwing it in the fire, he grasped the poker and pushed it down until only ashes remained; then turning to the perpetrator of this sorry joke, he exclaimed, “Wessels, you are no gentleman.”
Little Diary, you should have seen him. He was splendid. I looked to see Mr. Wessels resent it, but he only laughed and just then other guests came and the episode was ended; but. I shall always feel grateful to my champion and never will he rank with “the Yankees” in my mind.
It was a gay scene; the bright dresses of the ladies, the brilliant uniforms of the officers, the plentiful sprinkling of civilians, the long mirrors reflecting it all, but I did not enjoy one minute of the evening. I did not enjoy it although My Soldier in Gray was there and usually that insures a happy evening for me. I could not sleep for hours; the insult cut deep.
