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In the spring of 1833, an old man in southern Indiana in need of a federal pension swore out a statement that testified to his service in the American Revolution more than five decades earlier back in Virginia.
The tale that he laid out in that document has laid virtually unnoticed ever since until it caught the sharp eye of Michael Hudson, the executive director of the Historic Smithfield estate in Montgomery County. It’s easy to see why Hudson is now in pursuit of learning more about this lowly private from Botetourt County.
After all, John Wyatt swore that he was not just a soldier but also a spy, and not just any spy, either. He swore that he was the spy who brought down a Tory network in Southwest Virginia and thwarted what could have been a catastrophic attack that might have helped Lord Cornwallis roll up the American revolutionaries in Virginia in one grand sweep. What Wyatt didn’t say was that his spy career inadvertently introduced a new phrase into our vocabulary — “lynching.”
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We don’t know much about Wyatt. We know he was born in London on June 4, 1748, when King George II sat on the throne and relations with his North American Colonies were still cordial. We’re not sure when and how Wyatt came to Virginia, but it’s possible that by age 13 he was living in Orange County where he was indentured to a cooper — a barrel-maker. There was someone who fits that description in Orange County at the time, Hudson says, but John Wyatt is also a relatively common name. We do know that in 1778, the then-30-year-old Wyatt was living in Botetourt County and volunteered for a one-year tour of duty with a Virginia regiment that led to seeing action in New Jersey at the Battle of Monmouth.
We know he ended up re-enlisting and that in May 1780 he was in South Carolina at the Siege of Charleston. We also know that did not go well for the Americans. Wyatt and many others were marched off to a British prisoner of war camp. That’s where things start to get interesting.
From across the years, we can surmise one thing for certain about Wyatt: He must have been one smooth talker. How do we know this? Because Wyatt talked his way out of a prison camp.
In his sworn statement, Wyatt said he befriended a British officer named Joseph Seals (an American turncoat who was now serving the British). For the price of one barrel of rum, Wyatt bought “the protection” of Seals, who set him free.
This raises questions, so many questions — questions that Hudson can’t yet answer. How did a prisoner get access to a barrel of rum? Was Wyatt, who may have been a barrel maker, put to work by the British to make barrels or make rum, or both? Why was a British officer in such need of rum that he’d set a prisoner free for it? Couldn’t he have gotten his rum some other way? Or did he simply take pity on Wyatt for some reason? We don’t know. All we know is that Wyatt traded rum for his freedom. In fact, it appears Seals may have given Wyatt paperwork that let him pass for Seals, or maybe Wyatt simply faked that. All we know is that later in life Wyatt signed a sworn statement that “by passing under the name Joseph Seal” he “effected his passage through the British lines” — a Colonial-era form of identity theft. Wyatt also took with him some newspapers from Charleston, South Carolina, documents that would later prove important in the escapades that followed.
We don’t know how Wyatt made the 400-plus-mile trip — did he walk? Did he find a horse? — but we know that by July 1780, three months after his capture, he made it back home. It’s unclear whether Wyatt then reported to local military authorities or whether they sought him out. Court documents in Indiana (where Wyatt later settled) give this account: “After his return to his home and it being understood by the officers there how he had escape[d], they had an interview with him.” Those present for this interview included General Andrew Lewis (who lived in modern-day Roanoke County), Colonel William Preston (whose home in Montgomery County is now known as Historic Smithfield), Colonel Hugh Crockett and a “Colonel Chrystie,” whom modern historians assume was William Christian. As their rank signifies, they were top military officials in that part of the state. Lewis was particularly well-connected. He had overseen Virginia’s defenses early in the war and was well-liked by George Washington. Come 1780, Governor Thomas Jefferson had appointed him to the state’s Executive Council, something like a Cabinet in those days, but Lewis was also ill and would die a year later. (See our previous story and podcast on Lewis).
In the summer of 1780, though, he understood the opportunity that Wyatt’s surprise appearance, and his escape, presented. We grow up hearing so much about the American Revolution that it’s easy to think support for the American cause was unanimous. It was not. The region west of the Blue Ridge was a particular hotbed of sympathy for the king. (See our previous story on Tories in the New River Valley). Colonel William Campbell of modern-day Smyth County (then part of Washington County) frequently encountered Tories and simply hung them. Preston regularly considered his life in danger from Tories in the New River Valley. “You live in a rascally county,” Thomas Lewis of Rockingham County told Preston.
While the western part of Virginia did not see any Revolutionary War battles, it was considered strategically significant for one reason: The lead mines in modern-day Wythe County (then still part of Montgomery County) were a key source of ammunition for the Patriot cause. (See our previous story on the lead mines). While no British armies were marching through, plenty of British sympathizers were in the area, which put the mines in jeopardy. Governor Jefferson had ordered Preston to protect the mines.
When Wyatt showed up in Botetourt County, with a grand tale of escape, newspapers that proved he had been in Charleston, and possibly documentation that he was supposed to be a British officer named Joseph Seals, the American military officers hatched a daring plan. They “prevailed upon” Wyatt to become a spy. His assignment: Pose as a British officer, go to the New River Valley, infiltrate the Tories, find out what they were planning and report back.
Crockett had an additional document that Wyatt could add to his collection to reinforce the cover story. Crockett had “an old captain’s commission” from Lord Dunmore, Virginia’s royal governor who had been chased out but was still legally governor of the colony, in British eyes. Hudson says this document was probably on sheepskin, which made the forgery that followed technically possible. Crockett scratched out his name from the document and instead wrote out the name “Joseph Seals.” This was 18th century spycraft, which is not all that different from how it works today.
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With that altered document, those newspapers from British-held Charleston and apparently a winning personality, Wyatt set out for “the Tory settlements on New River” to pass himself off as a British agent. A letter that Preston sent to Governor Jefferson refers to “two young men” who were sent to the New River Valley, but Wyatt’s late-in-life testimony makes no mention of anyone else, so we don’t know who might have gone with him.
Try to imagine all this from the point of view of Tory sympathizers in the region: They knew the British had taken South Carolina. They hoped the British will soon be marching north. They consider themselves the patriotic ones — and they want to help. They start making their own plans to strike the lead mines. When a man who might have still had an English accent shows up, bearing a British commission and a clutch of newspapers as evidence that he’s been in South Carolina, it was easy for those Tories to believe that this “John Seals” was an actual British scout sent to organize their resistance into an uprising.
They told him everything.
In his sworn statement, Wyatt said he “made himself known to them as a British Captain and was kindly received and entertained by them.” This is probably 18th century code for lots of rum. The Tories laid out to Wyatt “that it was their intention to attack, break up and destroy Chizzel’s lead mines on New River and to attack the homes, destroy the property and take the lives of our leading men in that section of the country.”
This was war and the Tories intended to wage it. “Seals” probably nodded approvingly as the Tories poured out the gruesome details. The Tories also laid out ambitious plans to follow-up with an attack on the arsenal at New London (outside present-day Lynchburg) and then march on to Albemarle County to liberate the thousands of Hessians being held prisoner there. All those Hessians could then be armed and sent back into the field to reassert British control over Virginia once more. This scenario wasn’t far-fetched: This was exactly what Virginia leaders had feared. Governor Jefferson was said to be so nervous about the prospect of British troops marching up from the Carolinas that he set up a system of post riders to alert him to their movements.
A real British agent would have wanted to assess just what the local capabilities were, so “Seals” pressed for information on just how many people could be counted on to join this impending attack. The excited Tories turned over “a written list of their force, which amounted to a considerable number.”
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The John Wyatt behind the Seals disguise was horrified. This was a well-organized plot. Furthermore, the Tories were prepared to launch it soon, so soon he didn’t have time to make his way back to Botetourt County to alert his handlers. Wyatt had to think fast, and did.
“Seals” no doubt acted impressed, so impressed that he advised the Tories they should wait. He assured them that “in a short time there would be British troops in the neighborhood who would assist them in this enterprise.”
The local Tories fell for it. After all, here was a British officer at the vanguard of the coming force! They agreed to wait until they had some reinforcement from British regulars.
With the delay agreed to, Wyatt rushed to tell Preston, probably at his Smithfield estate on the edge of the present-day Virginia Tech campus. Preston “immediately raised the militia” and, with Wyatt at his side, rounded up the Tories, “a large number of them.”
Preston did more than call out the local militia, though. He called on reinforcements from Botetourt County and Washington County. Soon there were 400 men patrolling the region. Meanwhile, Colonel Charles Lynch from modern-day Campbell County (but then still part of Bedford County) marched in additional troops from the Bedford County Militia to guard the lead mines; Lynch was also Superintendent of the State Lead Mines.
In a letter to Governor Jefferson, Preston advised that “a most horrid conspiracy amongst the Tories in this county” had been “providentially discovered” and that “there are near now 60 in confinement.” Furthermore, “there are new prisoners being brought in hourly.” From the distance of time, we can only wonder how much of that was real and how much was hysteria. Later documents show about 75 people were rounded up.
The magistrates from Botetourt and Montgomery County met to figure out what to do with all these prisoners — “deluded wretches,” Preston called them in his letter to Jefferson. The local authorities were able to discern that not everyone in custody had been involved to the same degree. One man was released on bond of 100,000 British pounds; in today’s money, that’s about $23 million. “Some have BEEN WHIPPED,” Preston assured Jefferson in capital letters. Others had been persuaded to enlist in the Continental Army as a way to avoid punishment. Then came another sentence that Preston considered so important he spelled it out in capital letters: “THERE IS YET ANOTHER CLASS WHICH COMES FULLY WITHIN THE TREASON LAW.” The local authorities had no facilities considered secure enough to hold them so “sent them to the best prisons of the neighboring counties until they can be legally tried.” Those prisoners numbered 16 in all.
Governor Jefferson told Lynch to send those prisoners to Richmond for trial. Lynch was nervous about that. He worried about diverting soldiers from guarding the mines to escorting prisoners across the state. From his point of view, the western part of the state was in the midst of a crisis.They weren’t sure what other Tories were still out there and what they were plotting. They also weren’t exactly sure what the law said. They were aware that the General Assembly had recently passed something on how to deal with insurrections but didn’t know what. Preston later told Governor Jefferson that “we have not been able to obtain a copy.” Unsure what the law was, but feeling under pressure to act, they sent those 16 Tories suspected of treason to Lynch’s home of Green Level in modern-day Altavista. (The seat of Lynch’s plantation is now the grounds of Avoca Museum.) Once there, Lynch decided it was prudent to try the men himself. Some were acquitted but most were found guilty. They were given the option of enlisting in the Continental Army or being tied to a black walnut tree in the yard and flogged 39 times. Some of the Tories opted for the former, some chose to endure the latter. If they changed their mind once the whip was applied, the flogging would cease if they cried out “Liberty Forever” — although even that also carried the requirement of enlistment in the American cause.
It’s unclear how many men were flogged but the incident gave rise to the term “Lynch Law.” We’ve mangled the meaning since; at the time, no one was hanged and there was no racial dimension involved. These were white Colonists being whipped for their loyalty to the king and plotting to kill American revolutionaries. (Later in life Lynch renounced slavery, but he did have a reputation for being prejudiced against those with Welsh surnames, Hudson said). When Governor Jefferson heard about what Lynch had done, he sent a letter approving of his actions. After the war, there was talk that those who had been whipped might sue Lynch, Preston and others so the General Assembly passed a law to indemnify them against any legal action. Those “faithful citizens” used “timely and effectual measures” to “suppress . . . conspiracy,” the legislature said. “Whereas the measures taken for that purpose may not be strictly warranted by law,” it was “justifiable from the imminence of the danger.”
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Although local militias flooded into the New River Valley in the aftermath of this “horrid conspiracy,” the break-up of the nest of Tories ultimately meant those militias were no longer needed in the region. The historian Alfred Percy writes that freed up militiamen in Southwest Virginia to march with Colonel William Campbell to fight the British at the Battle of King’s Mountain in South Carolina in October 1780. These were the Overmountain Men; we previously wrote about their long march in a previous story and podcast. That American victory frustrated the British from marching north and doing what the Virginians had long feared — seize the lead mines, free the prisoners in Albemarle County and otherwise take over Virginia. After King’s Mountain, the British had to figure out another strategy. What they came up with eventually sent Lord Cornwallis to Yorktown, and history. An enterprising spy from Botetourt County played some small role in setting all that in motion.
As for Wyatt, after his spy escapades, he went back into the army the following year. Some of those punished were required to pay for American soldiers “as a punishment for their disaffection.” Wyatt was one of those who got paid by the very people he turned in. Other Tories were required to serve in the army. When Wyatt reported for duty, he recognized some of them. “Not wishing to be shot in the back, he put in for a transfer and received it,” Percy wrote in his history.
Eventually sent to a “safe” unit, Wyatt wound up at Yorktown, where George Washington had Lord Cornwallis cornered. Wyatt spent some “reconnoitering the country” but he was apparently a stickler for details. When his two-month enlistment expired, he left and went back home. That meant he missed what happened a week later: Cornwallis surrendered.
After the war, Wyatt went west, first to Kentucky, eventually to Indiana. Not until decades later did he ever record his exploits. Two months after he filed his pension application, he died, at age 85.