Sussex County History Today: James Moody

Today please welcome Vernon’s Historian, Ron Dupont as guest writer for the Sussex County History Today. During the last several months I have been highlighting Patriots from our county and from the Continental Army. Ron is depicting the escapades of a man who leaned toward the British persuasion. In general the American population consisted of: 1) those whom we call Patriots, 2) people who remained quiet and neutral, 3) those who desired to stay with the British Empire, and 4) those who operated as “cowboys” who robbed from citizens for personal gain.

James Moody, Revolutionary War Villain – or Hero?

By Ron Dupont

The annals of Sussex County are filled with stories of men and women who showed bravery and zeal during the American Revolution. Foremost among these was a man who demonstrated courage, initiative, stealth, and selflessness for a cause he believed in.

He risked virtually everything, suffered mightily, and nearly died. Yet his actions made his name legend. His career is discussed to this day.

And, umm . . . he was fighting for King George III.

His name was James Moody.

That this remarkable local figure of the Revolution was a Loyalist should not be totally surprising. Many citizens had grievances with British policy. But many also thought the idea of breaking away from the mother country was, frankly, bonkers.

Born about 1744, Moody lived on 500 acres near the Delaware in Knowlton–now Warren County, then Sussex County. In April 1777, a group of Revolutionaries came to his house demanding his oath of loyalty to the new United States. He declined, and soon became a target.

With 70 neighbors, he escaped to British lines at Staten Island and joined the New Jersey Loyalist Volunteers, serving later as ensign and lastly a lieutenant.

As a soldier, he proved to be a partisan fighter par excellence. His knowledge of northern New Jersey made him the perfect guy to raise Loyalist militia, conduct raids, intercept mails, harass the locals, and generally make life miserable for the Rebels.

At the time, they called this kind of fighting “petite guerre”--petty warfare. We call it guerilla warfare, and Moody was a pioneer of it.

One of Moody’s operational bases was a large rocky overhang near the Muckshaw Ponds about two miles southwest of Newton. Moody’s Rock, as it is called, had been a Native American rockshelter thousands of years ago. It was perfect, giving shelter from rain, and surrounded by impassable rocks and swamp, impossible to attack.

Moody refers to this in his later writing, paraphrasing the Book of Hebrews, saying he hid by “wandering in the dens and caves of the earth.” Moody’s Rock is now part of the Muckshaw Ponds Preserve.

In early summer 1780, Moody and his squad even managed a jailbreak, getting Loyalist captives out of the prison in the basement of the County courthouse in Newton. He did it with true chutzpah: to get the door open, he impersonated a Patriot, saying he was delivering a prisoner, “one of Moody’s men.” It didn’t work, so after a few Indian-style war-whoops they broke through a cellar window and got their comrades free.

In July 1780 Moody was finally captured and imprisoned at West Point. It looked like the hangman’s noose was certain, but Moody managed to escape. Surviving on berries, he made his way back to British lines. His brother John was, in fact, hanged in Philadelphia in 1781.

This flirtation with death did not stop Moody, who was soon back in the game. Intercepting Rebel mail, capturing communiques to George Washington, plotting to kidnap New Jersey Governor William Livingston–all some of Moody’s many adventures.

But by the spring of 1782, Moody was broken, financially and physically. Sick from five years of nonstop effort, when British Commander-in-Chief General Sir Henry Clinton offered him passage to London, Moody took it.

In London, Moody wrote a book about his efforts: “Lieutenant James Moody’s Narrative of his Exertions and Suffering in the Cause of Government.” Published in London in 1783, it remains one of the most vivid first-hand accounts of the war. Former Royal Governor of New Jersey William Franklin (estranged son of Ben) provided a testimonial as to its accuracy.

Moody appealed to the Crown for compensation for his losses and expenses. At a time when many Loyalists got pennies on the dollar for what they spent helping the King, Moody got 95% of his claim. He also got an annual pension of £100, proof of his remarkable actions.

To be sure, Moody’s exploits impressed the local Patriots too. It seems he even gave them a bit of PTSD, because his acts became the stuff of legend.

In an age with few books or newspapers, entertainment–especially on long winter nights–meant tales told around the fireside. Few tales were more popular than those of the Revolution. And in the folk tales of Sussex County, James Moody gained a reputation that eclipsed even his real one.

His genuinely remarkable deeds were encrusted in a body of wild legend and folklore. He became more than a dread Tory legend–he became a kind of 18th century James Bond villain.

These tales were set down in 1885 by journalist and Sussex County native Augustus C. Schooley. Under the pseudonym “Baron Von Mushstick,” Schooley wrote “Legends of Moody’s Rock,” a Longfellow-esque epic poem.

Moody’s Rock was said to have a limestone door, behind which was cave-palace filled with the pillaging of the county: rich turkish carpets on the floor, Persian tapestries, fine furniture, a library, a chandelier, and a bust of King George III.

Legend even said Moody had a grand piano in the cave, on which he would serenade guests while they enjoyed champagne and cigars. Moody’s ability to strike at will was credited to his traveling via a network of caves connecting Muckshaw to the Devil’s Den, a cave near Newton.

Moody’s Rock, the legend went, still concealed a barrel of gold, now protected by a ghost. Oh, and Moody was betrothed to an Indian princess.

Some stories even got his name wrong, calling him “Bonnell Moody” (maybe they confused him with noted Morris County Tory Benjamin Bonnell).

It’s the old story: when the legend becomes fact, print the legend. And legend he was: Moody’s Rock became Sussex County’s first tourist attraction, a must-see for visitors. Their graffiti–carved names and dates going back to the early 1800s–are still visible there today

In reality, Moody enjoyed no luxuries. By November 1782, after two years in England, his health, reputation, and finances were regained. Moody hoped to return to the fight in America. Rather than give up, he said, he would rather “die in the last ditch.”

But it was too late. After the British surrender at Yorktown in October 1781, it became clear the war was over. And like most American Tories of modest means, he ended up not in England, but in the wilds of Nova Scotia.

Moody settled on the Sissiboo River, on Nova Scotia’s southwest coast. There he farmed, became a shipbuilder (he named his first ship “The Loyalist”), and was a colonel in the militia. He served in the Nova Scotia Assembly from 1793 to 1806. He died in 1809 and was buried in St. Peter’s Cemetery in Weymouth, next to a church he helped build.

While James Moody was remembered in Sussex County first as a Tory traitor, and later as a romantic villain, his tombstone in far off Nova Scotia tells his side of the story:

“Here lies the man who of tranquil mind / Felt friendly sympathy to all Mankind / His Country valued and his Sovereign loved / While honest zeal his patient valour moved.”