A Zombie's History of the United States

by Worm Miller

  Some cities, such as Philadelphia, chose to burn down their dead houses—with the undead inside—but in a time before hydrants and organized fire departments, it was a risky plan (with notable failures). Most cities elected simply to clear the dead houses out, which required huge mobs to subdue the zombies. Boston suffered Hell Friday on October 3, 1749, when citizens refused in protest to aid in a zombie roundup. The carnage that followed saw the implementation of the “see-and-shoot” law in Boston. The see-and-shoot law legally required citizens to attack and kill any zombie they saw. Those witnessed not aiding others in a zombie attack could be punished with a fine or jail time. Archaic but effective, see-and-shoot laws quickly spread to several other cities. New York was still practicing see-and-shoot until establishing official police services in 1845.

  The anti-zombie Fire Hook.

  In 1751 there was The First Cleanse, or Harron’s War (named after Bishop John Harron, who championed the event), a series of organized zombie purges throughout the colonies from May through August. Posses formed for the purposes of de-animating zombies were nothing new. What made Bishop Harron’s plan unique was the radical idea of relocating the zombies. De-animating zombies with bullets and decapitations was dangerous and time-consuming, but Harron had a new instrument to add to the cause: the Fire Hook. Developed by Charles Luvel DeMett at the bishop’s behest, the Fire Hook was a wheeled cart with a crescent shaped bar to which as many as twenty torches could be affixed. Fire was then the only thing zombies were known to be afraid of. With several men pushing the Fire Hook, zombies could be driven away or corralled with reasonable effectiveness.

  Hailed as a small success, The First Cleanse was of course only a temporary fix, as all it accomplished was driving the zombies into Indian territory. Over time this created incredibly dense hordes of zombies in the West, but that was a problem for future generations.

  Viewed as a hollow pronouncement in its time, the Undead Act was the first step toward the complete removal of zombies from American life, to the world we now live in. The act was also one of the many colonial grievances that would soon swell into the War for Independence.

  TWO

  A Revolting Revolution AMERICA’S FIGHT FOR INDEPENDENCE

  These are the times that try men’s souls; the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like a rotting deviled walking corpse, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.

  —Thomas Paine, The American Crisis, 1776

  Starting with Bacon’s Rebellion in Virginia, by 1763 there had already been eighteen uprisings attempting to overthrow local governments in the colonies.

  England had just defeated France in the Seven Years’ War (known stateside as the French and Indian War), and expelled French power from the continent. The British had wooed the Indians by declaring Indian lands west of the Appalachians off limits to colonials. Ambitious colonial leaders were of course furious, their chances for expansion now dashed, but the average colonist was far more concerned by a provision in the Royal Proclamation of 1763 that forbade them from driving zombies into Indian territory, which had remained a popular practice since The First Cleanse.

  Making matters worse, the British needed to recoup investment from their costly war with France, and the colonies were where they expected the revenue—colonial trade had become increasingly important to the British economy—but by this stage the English were in far greater need of colonial wealth than the colonials were in need of British leadership. The situation was ripe for conflict.

  The Creeping Lurch to War

  Among the natural rights of the colonists are these:

  First a right to life, secondly to liberty, and thirdly

  to property; together with the right to defend them

  against man and walking dead in the best manner

  they can.

  —Samuel Adams, The Rights of the Colonists, 1772

  In 1768, two thousand British soldiers were still quartered in Boston. The French and Indian War long over, soldiers began taking jobs normally held by colonists at a time when jobs were already scarce. Tensions were at a breaking point when, on March 5, 1770, British soldiers fired into an agitated crowd in front of a customhouse, killing five civilians. The incident became known as the Boston Massacre and was a critical event in turning colonial sentiment against King George III—the rolling snowball that became an avalanche, if you will.

  Zombies may have been the true targets of the Boston Massacre.

  What was, and continues to be, conveniently overlooked is that the British were not shooting at civilians, but zombies. Five civilians did indeed die, but four of those casualties were from devourment, and the fifth, Crispus Attucks, died from “gunshot to the forehead,” indicating that a soldier likely mistook him for a zombie in all the commotion.

  Future second U.S. president John Adams made headlines when he agreed to defend the British soldiers. During the trial he cited the evidence of a zombie presence, presenting eyewitnesses and even a de-animated zombie corpse. In the end, the jury acquitted six of the soldiers and punished two others with a mere branding upon their thumbs. It was a major win for Adams, boosting his public persona and ensuring his place as a Founding Father.

  For the rebellion-hungry populace the outcome of the trial mattered little. The fabrication that the soldiers had fired upon unarmed civilians proved far more attractive, and word of the zombie presence became seen as a British conspiracy to deflect their guilt. People were getting angry, and they were starting to fight back. So-called zombie raids, in which colonists would commit crimes—even murders—dressed as zombies, began popping up all over the North-east. On October 31, 1773, a group of twenty young men dressed as zombies ran a violent tear through the streets of Boston, destroying Loyalist property and sacking the house of Wallace Trent, a wealthy Loyalist, dragging him into the streets and killing him. Often referred to as the Boston Zombie Party (cheekily echoing Boston’s more famous Tea Party), the riot was a polarizing event. Samuel Adams argued that it was the “only remaining option the people had to defend their constitutional rights,” while Benjamin Franklin decried it, saying “to debase oneself in the fanciful mimicry of such nasty creatures for little purpose more than murder and looting is to debase the legitimate aims of the Colonies.” For decades after, defenders of the act would again dress as zombies to partake in harvest revelries; this act of macabre dress-up eventually helped shaped American Halloween celebrations.

  Up until now Massachusetts had been unique among the colonies in that its citizens (the important ones, that is) were able to elect the members of its executive council. In the wake of the Boston Zombie and Tea parties, Great Britain sought to bridle Massachusetts’s errant behavior. On May 20, 1774, Parliament passed the Massachusetts Government Act, one of the Intolerable Acts. The act nullified the colony’s charter; civil officials could now only be appointed or dismissed by the royal governor, who could only be appointed or dismissed by the king; and town meetings were banned. This prompted the Patriot leaders to create the Massachusetts Provincial Congress (the first autonomous government of the Thirteen Colonies) and gather the First Continental Congress.

  Things had reached a breaking point. By the time the Second Continental Congress met the following year, the first shots of the Revolutionary War had already been fired.

  The Unholy Ground

  Soon the thing was biting at us and the flames spread. I did run.

  —Nathan Hale, from a letter to Col. Knowlton, September 22, 1776

  Washington and his army arrived in New York City on April 13, 1776, to help hold the city, which John Adams had described as the “key to the whole continent.” Tories owned well over half of the property in the city, and half the members of the Chamber of Commerce were avowed Loyalists. Needless to say, there wa
s no welcoming parade to greet Washington and his men.

  Unwelcome in most of the city’s more respectable establishments, Washington’s men frequented a section of the city known as the Holy Ground, a foul slum and brothel district west of the Commons, much of which was owned by Trinity Church (Church of England), hence the seemingly incongruous name. By estimates, as many as five hundred prostitutes plied their trade there, including special houses that catered in zombie prostitutes. With all the gin and women collected in the area, any trouble after dark always seemed to start in the Holy Ground.

  Concerned for the health of his men, Washington sent Lt. Isaac Bangs, a Harvard graduate with training in medicine, to make a tour of inspection of the Holy Ground, and Bangs was appalled by what he saw:

  STZ: SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED ZOMBISM

  Lt. Bangs may have been disgusted by the idea of zombie prostitution, but it was not completely uncommon among soldiers—or officers, for that matter. The zombie sex trade was very appealing to the proprietors of brothels, as zombies—fixed with a muzzle, and either completely or at least partially strapped down—did not need to be paid or cared for, and they were a renewable resource, as young women already plying in the flesh trade could easily be zombinated with few questions asked by anyone.

  Even aside from how repellent the idea of having sex with a zombie may seem, it came with a very real danger. As we know now, zombism is a communicable virus and like AIDS, it can be contracted through sexual intercourse. Shockingly, this did not deter many from taking the risk. The army’s physicians generally would not state that a soldier died of zombination contracted through intercourse, instead ambiguously stating that a man died from “illness,” so there is no way of knowing how many men may have met their fate through the Holy Ground’s zombie brothels.

  When I visited [the prostitutes] at first I thought nothing could exceed them in filth. Then I was instructed down a stair to a room with a Live Dead harnessed to a bedding. Nearly I fainted. How any man could desire intimate connection with such creatures is more than I am willing to comprehend.

  On April 22, less than a week after the Continental Army moved into the city, all hell erupted in the Holy Ground. The mutilated bodies of two soldiers were found concealed in a brothel. One victim’s “face had been entirely chewed away where the nose and eyes belong and the skull emptied within, cleaned dry to the bone,” Bangs recorded. In retaliation, gangs of soldiers went on a rampage, tearing to pieces the building where the dead soldiers were found.

  Washington was angered and embarrassed by the misbehavior of his men. He implemented a curfew and deployed officers to patrol the Holy Ground, but the area would not be his problem for very long. By September, British forces occupied New York, having landed on Long Island at the end of August and driven Washington and his army from the city. Now the British would take their turn dealing with the Holy Ground, and they too would not have to wait long for trouble.

  Shortly after midnight on September 21, a fire started in the Fighting Cocks, a tavern in the Holy Ground. In the dry, hot fall air, the fire spread quickly. Washington had ordered every bell in the city carried away to be recast for cannon, so no warning bells were sounded to spread alarm. When the fire finally blew itself out, one quarter of the entire city had been destroyed.

  To the British and the New York Loyalists, this was surely an act of the enemy. A sweep of the city was made for culprits, which turned up Nathan Hale, a schoolteacher turned soldier with no former experience in espionage who had nonetheless accepted a spying mission to bring back much-needed intelligence on the British. Hale denied starting the fire but admitted to being a spy, for which he was promptly hanged. Here he delivered his immortal final words, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country,” which was actually a slightly misquoted line from a then-popular play, Cato.

  Before being brought to the gallows, Hale was kindly sheltered in the office of British military engineer Cap. John Montresor, who allowed Hale to write a letter to his commander Col. Knowlton. The letter is mostly an embarrassing illustration of Hale’s woeful naivety as a spy, but it does contain details on the instigation for the Great New York Fire:…I enter the Cocks, a slovenly place inspiring me to adopt a more slovenly personage—a squinted eye and pronounced limp were amended. I too took on the vocals of a roguish seaman! Knowing not many truths about seafaring I yelled “Avast” whenever the moment struck me. Ho! I sat down at a table with a handful of carousing surlyes. I loudly identified that we were all upstanding supporters of the King and surely none of us spies, so I invited a game in which we would revel in this love and share our best secrets that no spy should ever hear! Curse fates, for before my gambit could be reaped, an altercation broke out. What we had all taken to be a waywarding drunk revealed itself to be an Undead. Panic broke out while several braver sorts attempted to secure the creature. The taven’s pourer took to a lantern to set the Beast aflame and soon the whole place was lit.

  ZOMBIES FOR INDEPENDENCE

  Always the idealist, Thomas Jefferson wanted to address zombies in the Declaration of Independence, which was adopted on July 4, 1776, and signed on August 2. Jefferson had a strong interest in zombies both scientifically and philosophically—at the time of his death in 1826, his estate recorded nine zombies (five as slaves, four for experimentation). He felt zombies should be addressed in the important document in some fashion as to indicate their place and stature in things. Benjamin Franklin vetoed the proposal, reasoning that the other delegates would be uncomfortable with the idea. Zombies were, after all, a singular shame for America. Best not to mention them at all.

  Despite the evidence to the contrary, it was still widely believed within the city that Washington’s spies had started the fire. In spiteful response, the British forces and promi-nent Loyalists occupied the few remaining undamaged structures, relegating the squalor of the flame-scorched ruins to the other residents.

  Political cartoon by Benjamin Franklin. Pennsylvania Gazette, April 28, 1754.

  British troops were to remain in New York City until November 25, 1783, the last vestige of British authority to leave the United States after the war’s conclusion.

  Victory and Death

  For the attack to have almost been undone by undead. Now that we have victory I can laugh at the sentiment.

  —George Washington, letter to Martha Washington, January 2, 1777

  Despite a victory at Boston earlier in the year, the defeat at New York City was a major blow to the American cause, both strategically and emotionally. Cdr. Charles Cornwallis had chased Washington all the way across New Jersey and over the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. In the retreat from New York, Washington had lost important supplies and nearly 3,000 soldiers had been captured. Of Washington’s remaining 4,600 men, 1,700 were unfit for duty and needed medical attention. Morale was low. Many soldiers were planning to leave the army once their commission had expired, and many others had already taken the opportunity to desert before their enlistments were up. Washington needed to make a bold move to turn the tide.

  With winter settling in, Cornwallis had called off his pursuit, ordering his men into winter quarters in Trenton, New Jersey. Washington had an idea to forgo establishing a winter camp in Pennsylvania and instead make a surprise attack on Cornwallis, but lacked the sufficient number of healthy men to do so. Washington’s fortune changed on December 20, when 2,000 men arrived under the command of Gen. John Sullivan, followed shortly by another 1,000 militia under Col. John Cadwalader. Washington immediately set his plan into motion.

  Washington’s gambit called for three separate columns of men to make three separate crossings over the Delaware: Washington’s column would lead the attack on Trenton; a second column under Cadwalader would cross near Bristol, Pennsylvania, and create a diversion to the south; a third column under Brig. Gen. James Ewing was to cross just south of Trenton and hold the bridge across the Assunpink Creek to prevent a potential escape by that route for Cornwallis
. Once Trenton was secure, the columns would recombine and move against the British posts in Princeton and New Brunswick.

  By December 24, the boats needed for the crossing had been acquired and hidden at McKonkey’s Ferry, Washington’s planned crossing site. On Christmas Day they were ready for the attack.

  Washington’s plan required the crossing to be after sunset, so as to conceal their movements. The weather at McKonkey’s Ferry shifted radically as the sun went down; drizzle turned to rain, to sleet, then snow. Washington was in the first boat of troops to cross the river, and despite the weather, it went off without incident. These troops formed a security line around the landing area, with strict instructions that no one may pass through without uttering the password: “victory or death.”

  With Washington on the New Jersey shore, charge of the crossing had been given to artillery chief Henry Knox, a bookseller who had distinguished himself early in the conflict when he commanded a troop that retrieved the famous “guns of Ticonderoga” that had won the Americans the victory at Boston. Now, along with the men, Knox also had to safely see countless horses and eighteen pieces of artillery across the Delaware. Though hard going, events were moving, initially, as planned.

  Things were not going as well for Cadwalader. In a letter to his brother, Washington recounted what Cadwalader had reported:With the Men huddle at the riveredge apparently up rose a pitiful wale from the ranks. The Men had been ordered not yet to arm ther muskettes, lest some discharge accidently. Commotion reigned and soon the Commander learnt it was undead. The numbers he could not assess in the night light. He commanded no gunfire, lest the entire mission be givenway.