LETTER CXXVI.
Baltimore, Oct. 13, 1814.
Thursday.
Dear Theodore,
I have been detained here since Monday, by the
consequences of an accident that befell me at Port Conway
(opposite Port Royal) on Monday morning. At 3 o'clock
I was roused to set out in the stage: mistaking, in the dark,
a very steep staircase for a passage, at the end of which I
expected to find the descent—walking boldly on, I fell from
the top to the bottom, and was taking up senseless. My
left shoulder and elbow were severely hurt; also, the right
ankle. My hat saved my head, which was bruised, but not
cut. Nevertheless, I persevered, got on to Georgetown, and
the next day came to this place, where I have been compelled
to remain in great pain. I am now better, and shall
limp on to Philadelphia to-morrow. Sterett Ridgely and
Dr. Gibson inquire particularly after you. So did Stanford.
I found Leigh here, but he was obliged to go on, next day,
to Fredericktown.
The random shot that killed Ross, saved Baltimore. General
Winfield Scott, passed on yesterday to Washington.
Poor Winder is the scape-goat to Monroe, who made all the
arrangements at Bladensburg.
Remember me to St. George. I shall write again, fully,
from Philadelphia.
Yours,
JOHN RANDOLPH.
No application was made to my bruises until my arrival
here on Monday night. Nicholson has not called on me!
Washington is ruined. The walls of the Capitol and Palace
are rapidly decomposing. The massy columns in the Hall
of the Representatives are not larger than the ordinary poles
of which we build tobacco houses. The Navy Yard is utterly
torn up and destroyed. The public offices, archives, &c.,
gone for ever. Send me a good impression of my small seal.
Address to West Farms, New York. Written on my back.
