You are now listening to cryptid cocktail party
Welcome to Cryptid Cocktail Party. My name is
Sarge, and unfortunately Dave cannot make it
today. He definitely doesn't have explosive diarrhea.
However, I am joined by Maynard. Who also does
not have explosive diarrhea. But you are extremely
close to the camera, which is interesting. As
of when we're recording this. I mean, my goal,
you know, anytime I come on this show is to just
get as close to the camera as I possibly can.
And... You know, with this little fisheye lens,
I think I'm there. I can see inside your nose.
I can almost see your brain. You're going to
have to look harder than that. Anyway. How much
up there? Welcome to Cryptid Cocktail Party,
a show where we have a few drinks, share a few
laughs, take a dive into the unknown. Welcome.
We've got a fun episode. This one's local, buddy.
Take your guesses to where this episode is going
to take place. Oh, boy. Boston? Somewhere? Yes.
I was actually worried that you might say Quincy
sent a T. No, I mean, let's not get crazy. I
mean, you know, I thought it sounded a bit more
broad than that. You know, I figured I'd be right
if I said Boston. Yeah, well, you were right.
Because, of course, it's two boys from Quincy.
Why wouldn't we do an episode about Boston, which
is not Quincy? Yeah, dude. How familiar are you
with Castle Island? At the brewery or the place?
Well, isn't the brewery on Castle Island? I believe
so. There's one a little bit closer to where
we live, too. But yes, the brewery is obviously
started about, you know. Nice. Well, this one,
this story takes place on Castle Island. It's
a bit of a detour from what we normally do. But
I thought it would be a cool story to tell. And
it inspired a famous writer. But we're going
to get to that. All right. So I think I'm just
going to read the script I wrote. I'm going to
try not to go off topic too much because there's
so much to talk about with this. So I'm just
going to get right into it. I'm going to tell
you a little story, Maynard. All right. It better
end with Sullivan's hot dogs or something. Fuck.
I left that out. Shit. All right. All right.
No time to fix that now. Here we go. Lieutenant
Robert Massey was a kind, compassionate man.
His calm, quiet leadership set him apart from
his fellow officers on Fort Independence. The
soldiers under his command and nearly everyone
else on the frigid, windswept shores of Castle
Island admired and respected him. Conversely,
the same could not be said for Lieutenant Gustavus
Drain. Drain was brash, arrogant, and utterly
repellent in almost every way. He spent his days
singling out soldiers for relentless bullying.
If he took a particular dislike to someone, Drain,
an accomplished swordsman, would invent some
unforgivable offense and demand immediate satisfaction.
Drain killed many men within the cold, imposing
granite walls of the Stronghold. I'm kind of
glad we don't do duels anymore. Not to get off
on a side quest here, but... Yeah, yeah, that
could get ugly. Yeah, like, I was looking up
duels. I wanted to look up how they worked. And
apparently, when you challenge someone to a duel,
they get to pick the weapon. And that feels kind
of fucked up. Yeah, yeah, because you could be
all ready and, you know, you know how to use
nine out of ten weapons, but then they choose
the one you don't know how to use. Right. Like,
what if I challenged a guy who was really good
at fighting with yo -yos? Screwed. Absolutely
screwed. I can do the cat's cradle, that's about
it. Anyway, on December 25th, 1817, the soldiers
of Fort Independence took shelter from the cutting
breeze sweeping in off Boston Harbor across the
frozen seawater built up on the shore. Gray clouds
stretched out from across the winter sky, denying
the garrison of even the hope of warmth from
the sunlight. Within the weathered ramparts,
men were sitting around a wooden table playing
cards while warming up by the fire. Lieutenants
Massey and Drain sat across from each other.
Their dog -eared cards trembled from the unshakable
chill of the damp, freezing air. The flames cast
dancing shadows throughout the room. Massey laid
down his hand. The other men laughed as Massey
reached out to claim the pile of coins in the
center of the table for the game that he'd just
won. Drain shot up from his stool and slammed
his hand down on Massey's winnings. The laughter
stopped as the mood in the room turned dark.
Hold fast, sir, Drain growled. You're a cheat.
Massey looked confused at the accusation. He
could not have possibly cheated. The other soldiers
were equally confused. But with the consequences
of challenging Drain, he had killed men for less.
Massey calmly pushed back from the table. I did
not cheat, sir. You dealt the hand. Drain's anger
grew even more intense. His voice became quieter.
Are you questioning my honor, sir? He nearly
spit the words out between clenched teeth. The
room was silent in shocked fear. There was no
question where this conversation was heading.
Massey rose from his seat. He straightened his
waistcoat and met Drain's intense gaze. Drain
appeared confused at first, not expecting Massey
to remain firm. Massey smiled. You were mistaken,
sir. Perhaps the cold has clouded your judgment.
In a flash, Drain flipped the table, sending
tin cups, cards, and coins scattered across the
room. I demand immediate satisfaction, Massey.
Massey rolled his eyes in contempt. Very well,
Drain. Swords. West parapet. One hour. Massey
turned and left. Drain kicked - Excuse me. I
was choked by my own words that I just wrote.
Massey turned and left. Drain kicked the pewter
flag in across the room and stormed out behind
him. Massey entered his quarters, followed by
his second, a man named Master Sergeant Franklin.
He opened a chest at the foot of his bed and
drew his blade. Sir, please do not fight, Lieutenant
Drain, Franklin said. He has not lost a duel.
Massey paused, took a deep breath, then he turned
and faced the worried sergeant. I cannot abide
that man's accusation, sergeant. If I do not
answer, I will be labeled a coward. Master Sergeant
nodded. Aye, but a living coward, sir. Massey
smiled. That's no kind of life, Sergeant. A man
is only as good as his honor. Down the hall,
Drain had retrieved his saber. He shook his head
and wondered why Massey had accepted the challenge
so readily. What is his aim? Drain muttered to
himself. No matter. He'll die as confidently
as he lived. He chuckled. The tremble of his
hand betrayed his laughter. Massey was very confident.
How are we doing so far? I'm ready. I need to
know what happens next. I was writing this with
Edgar Allan Poe in mind, but then I remembered
he's a much better writer than I am, so I stopped
doing that. He was a poet, wasn't he? He was
a poet. I did write a couple of rap songs, but
that's about it. None of them were good, so don't
look them up. Spotify? Soundcloud. Skrt! Massey
and Drain met in the shadows of the fort's bare
cellar under the west parapet. Each second carried
a lantern. The men drew their swords, prepared
to engage. Drain charged forward and swung wildly.
Massey stepped aside and Drain spun around. Massey
thrust his sword at Drain's chest. Drain parried.
But he left his face open for a jab from the
hilt of Massey's saber. Blood gushed from Drain's
torn lip. Drain wiped away the blood with his
handkerchief. He threw it on the floor and once
again lunged towards Massey. Again, Massey stepped
aside. As Drain passed, Massey tripped Drain,
who fell hard on the dusty cellar floor. Massey
walked to his side. Satisfied? Massey said calmly.
Drain nodded. His blood fell in drops on the
dry floor. Grains of sand glistened in the lamplight.
Massey returned his sword to its scabbard and
reached out his hand to help Drain up. Drain's
fingers extended and then contracted into a fist.
In one swift motion, Drain threw sand into Massey's
face. As Massey stumbled backward, Drain thrust
his sword into Massey's chest. Massey fell to
his knees. Drain placed his boot on Massey's
shoulder and kicked him backward as he drew his
sword from between Massey's ribs. Quite satisfied,
Drain hissed through a ghoulish, bloody smile.
Massey fought for air as he breathed his last
on the cold ground. Oof. Yeah. Doesn't seem like
a fair play. Yeah, Drain's a fucking dick. Everything
that I read about this guy, which is one paragraph
from a blog some Boston guy wrote, sounds like
he's a jerk. Terrible human. Okay, back to the
story. The winter of 1817 reluctantly gave way
to the warm, softer air of spring. Lieutenant
Massey's fresh grave was covered with the small
blue flowers that sprung up in response to the
welcome April sunlight. Drain escaped justice
for the murder, though word spread quickly about
his underhanded attack. The metaphor of independence
largely avoided him, except for Master Sergeant
Franklin. Though the rest of the winter, through
the rest of the winter, Drain and Franklin became
friends. They shared a love of local rum made
in Boston's North End. Call back to the... Yeah,
yeah. What happened like a hundred years later?
Are they still making rum? I wish they were,
but I don't think they are. And I can't imagine
it's very good. From time to time, Franklin would
bring a bottle to Drain, smuggled by a passing
fishing vessel. Drain seemed unaffected by the
murder of Massey. In fact, he was soon to be
married to a woman from Beacon Hill, so things
were looking up for him. In celebration, Master
Sergeant Franklin convinced him to celebrate
the night before the wedding. Drain agreed on
the condition that Franklin secure some more
rum. As the night began, a band of soldiers played
music while others danced and sang. Drain's cup
was never fully emptied. With every sip, someone
would pour more into his flagon. As the moon
rose above the fort, the men of Fort Independence
celebrated Lieutenant Drain. Drink up, sir. We've
got a surprise for you, Franklin shouted above
the celebration. Drain nodded, fully incoherent,
as the strong molasses rum had sunk deep into
his veins. The drinking, the singing, the dancing,
it all carried on long into the night. Drain's
eyes blinked slower and longer until he eventually
fell asleep. A cold breeze and hushed, imperceptible
talking drew Drain out of his slumber. His head
throbbed. Though still dark, the faint light
of the lamp made his eyes water. He attempted
to roll away from the light when he felt the
rough shackles around his wrists. His eyes widened.
He looked up to find his hand suspended over
his head. All right, boys, enough games. I'm
through. Take me to bed. Drain grumbled. In the
darkness, Master Sergeant Franklin called out
to Drain. Aye, sir, enough games. I assume you're
satisfied now. Drain lifted his head to find
Franklin's voice. To his shock, he found a fresh
stone wall with a small hole in it. Franklin
held out a lamp through the hole. You would be
impressed, sir. The boys and I managed to build
this wall while you slept. She's sturdy, Franklin
laughed. Drain tried to stand up, but his hands
were stuck fast to the shackles, and the shackles
were securely fastened to the wall. I'm not amused,
Franklin. Free me at once, Drain shouted. Franklin
pulled the lamp through the wall, allowing the
shadows to consume every inch of Drain's new
tomb. Lieutenant Massey sends his congratulations
on your wedding, sir, though I think you might
be late. Franklin carefully spread mortar on
the opening. Drain began shouting for help. Panic
rose in his voice and cracked with fear. Franklin
lifted the heavy granite stone and fit it snugly
into the hole. Drain's screams faded. Muffled
by the thick granite walls, a heavy silence fell
on the cellar of Fort Independence. Lieutenant
Drain was never seen again. Ooh. What do you
think? So, does that mean he's like, he's still
there? Walled up. Walled up? In the basement
of Fort Independence. Dang. So, this story is
crazy. It's wild. It's so wild, in fact, that
just a few years later, Someone else was completely
blown away by it. A hard -charging go -getter
by the name of Edgar Allan Poe. I know that guy.
Yeah, right? He wrote The Raven. And a lot of
poems about a woman who did not have any interest
in him. Now, he was from Baltimore, right? No,
sir. He was born and raised here in Boston, Massachusetts.
Was he local? He lived in Baltimore. Okay. All
right. So you were right. You were right. I was
just being facetious. But he was born here. Yeah,
he was born here. And then as a child, he moved
down to Virginia. Gotcha. Where he became a huge
dick. He got drunk all the time, was constantly
getting into fights. Just total hellraiser. And
his father was completely fucking done with him.
And eventually, Poe had accumulated a shit ton
of debt. And he never paid out. And so in order
to escape, he briefly changed his name and joined
the military to do a five -year bid. Dang. The
funny thing is, that sent him to Boston Harbor,
which in the 1820s is a fate worse than death
because that shit is cold as hell in the wintertime.
Just a little bit. So this was in 1827. He was
then stationed at Fort Independence in Boston
Harbor, which is located directly across from
Logan Airport. So anybody who has flown into
Boston has flown over Fort Independence. And
by then, the story of Drayton and Massey had
become somewhat of a local legend. Poe saw the
name of Lieutenant Massey on the wall in a memorial.
Lieutenant Massey's grave can be found in Massachusetts.
He was actually relocated. So his body is now
at Fort Devens out in Massachusetts. I've spent
a lot of time at Fort Devens. It's mostly mosquitoes
or snow. It's one or the other. But Poe decided
that this would be a good story. And so he took
the story of... the duel between Massey and Drain,
which apparently did happen. And he wrote The
Cask of Amontillado. Have you ever heard of it?
No, I don't think so. All right, so this is a
great revenge story. It's actually, it was one
of my favorite stories of Poe's, this one in
the Telltale Heart, which is also an amazing
story. So in this version of the story, a nobleman
named Montresser, was being bullied by a fellow
nobleman named Fortunato, which sounds like a
dick name. It sounds like Fortunato should be
wearing affliction jeans, driving a Cybertruck.
You know the guy. And so I guess Fortunato was
just constantly picking on Montresor and being
just an absolute dickhead to him. And so in order
to get revenge, Montresor decided to tell Fortunato
that he had this cask of Amontillado that...
only someone as refined as Fortunato could verify
that it was actually a Montiato wine. And so
Fortunato came over, Montresor got them wasted,
and I could be saying these names wrong, but
I feel good about it, so if you've got a problem,
tell your congressman. So they got shit -faced
drunk, and then... Montresor was like, okay,
let's go get the wine in my wine cellar. So they
start going down to the cellar and Fortunato
starts getting a cough because of the damp, gross
cellar air. And so Montresor was like, hey, we
can go back. But Fortunato was so greedy, he
wanted the Monteato wine. And so he's like, no,
no, no, that's okay. So they get down to the
basement and Montresor starts talking about being
a mason. And Fortunato thinks that he means a
Freemason. But Montresor shows him a spade and
he's like, no, just a Mason. Just like a regular
Mason. They do have a back and forth. They have
a good one where Montresor talks about his family
crests. And the family's motto is basically,
no slight will go unpunished. And then he, much
like in the Boston story, he chains up. puts
Fortunato to the wall and then bricks him up
into the wall. So instead of giving him the Amontillado,
he walls him up in the wine cellar. And the interesting
thing about the story also is that Poe, as the
narrator, Montresor, is talking about this 50
years later and he says, oh, you know, I started
to feel sick about the whole situation, but I
just chalked that up to the air in the cellar.
May Fortunato rest in peace. Wildly messed up.
Imagine pissing somebody off so much that they
wall you up in the basement of their house. That's
crazy. You'd break them right in. Wait, now that
I think about it, you have a dungeon, don't you?
Kind of, yeah, yeah. You have what you'd call
a basement under a cement garage, so yeah, that
could qualify as one. If I ever wanted to fill
that in, I could, you know. Yeah, you could just
wall it up and nobody would notice. Oh yeah,
no. Nobody would know that was there. Because
nobody has a basement under their garage. Oh,
no. No. All right, so you might be asking. I
don't either, technically. You know, I wouldn't
either. You just have a room where you keep the
mailman. You know, if somebody just, you know,
you show up on the ring cam one day and I catch
you, you know, you're in deep shit. Game over,
buddy. Game over. If you see me buying bricks,
don't come knocking at the door for a couple
hours at least. All right, so you might be asking,
how true is this story? Well, Lieutenant Drain
did not die in 1817. In fact, he would go on
to become Captain Drain and die in 1846 or 1847.
Oh. And so for a while, people sort of chalked
this story up to an urban legend. That is until
1905. So to give you a little history of Fort
Independence, Fort Independence was built. In
the early 1800s, right around the time of the
1812 war. The American Revolution II electric
boogaloo. Britain's back for revenge. This time,
they didn't bring tea. But Fort Independence
is located right across from Logan Airport. It's
a granite fort made of granite from Rockport.
and it was under construction on and off from
1814 to 1850. Talk about a long -ass time to
build in the fort. I mean, it is Boston. I mean,
it was basically the first big dig. Exactly.
And this is why nobody was going to notice if,
like, a room just disappeared or guys were, like,
building a wall because the fort was constantly
under construction. Interesting fact, former
President John Adams actually named Fort Independence.
Oh. Yeah. So anyway, in 1905, the fort was in
desperate need of some repairs. It's on Boston
Harbor, saltwater, not the best friend of mortar.
So it's kind of chewing up the fort, screwing
it up. So workers were checking the original
plans for the fort, and they found that there
was a wall that wasn't in the original design.
In fact, there should have been a dungeon in
its place. So after some back and forth, the
workers decided to tear down the wall. Behind
it, they found a skeleton wearing the tattered
remains of an army uniform. Worse yet, the skeleton
was chained to the wall. Ooh. Now, I couldn't
find a ton of collaborating evidence here. However,
a number of sources local to Boston claim it's
true. And much like the escaped monkey in the
Boston Garden, I'm willing to accept this one.
Yeah, yeah. And then right after, they opened
Sullivan's. Now you kind of wonder where they
got the hot dogs from. Ah, you know, geez. So
what do you think, man? Do you think this is
true? I mean, it sounds like it could be true.
I feel like it's true. So I couldn't find any
news sources, but we're also talking about 1905.
So what's up with the discrepancy of grain? Dying
years later, though. So I think whatever happened
to this guy who got walled up in there, he was
probably just a piece of shit that everybody
hated. Back then when they played pranks on people,
it wasn't exactly like nice. It was like, I really
do hate you and I want to do terrible things
to you. So I think with Lieutenant Drain. I,
he may not have been an asshole. He may have
just been a guy who was good at dueling and maybe
Massey really did, you know, piss him off. And
maybe Massey did cheat at cards. Who knows? The
story is that Massey was like this super good
guy, superhero, and Drain was this terrible braggart
piece of shit that everyone hated. And so that's
what carried the story on. But this was also
being told in 1827, you know, 10 years after
this duel supposedly happened. Yeah, one of those
things where the story just changes over the
years. Yeah, and the internet didn't exist, so
nobody would be able to argue that Drain was
actually happily living somewhere else. He got
switched to a new fort. The whole nine yards.
I added a little color commentary. I don't know
if he was actually getting married. I think the
story was supposed to end with them getting him
drunk. I was just putting some flair in there.
Because... I felt comfortable doing that because
Poe did it. And also, nobody knows what actually
happened. Right. So, I mean, does it matter?
I mean, no. Yeah, exactly. The interesting thing
about this story is that I actually first heard
this story as a boy. My father used to tell this
story around the campfire. Hmm. Yeah. And he
also, you know, would attribute Edgar Allan Poe,
you know, and say that, you know, Edgar Allan
Poe kind of... wrote the story, the whole nine
yards. But yeah, I thought it was an interesting
little piece of Boston history. And so did the
people of Bethesda Video Games, because when
they made Fallout 4 in 2015, which takes place
in Boston, you actually have a bunch of missions
at Fort Independence. And when you're exploring
Fort Independence, you can find a skeleton walled
up in the fort. Yeah, and there's actually a
whole Reddit thread of people trying to figure
out who this skeleton was and why he's relevant,
why they put him in there, because it's such
a local story. And then they stumble upon the
story somewhere else, and they're like, oh, it's
like a little Easter egg thing. Yeah, and Fallout's
kind of famous for that. They have a bunch of
Easter eggs. But I thought this was a great story.
I thought it was a lot of fun. There's a whole
bunch of cool stories about Boston Harbor, so
maybe we'll get to the Lady in Black at some
point. Have you heard that one? I think so, yeah.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was on Georgia's Island,
but I could be wrong. I don't know. It might
have been Fort Independence. My dad used to tell
that one as a ghost story, too, and it turned
out there was some truth to that story as well.
So a whole bunch of fun stuff. But I thought,
who better to appreciate this story? than a guy
who goes to Castle Island Brewery all the time.
Yeah, exactly. And I mean, I've been to the,
you know, Ford Independence and the Castle Island
plenty of times too. I mean, you know, grew up
just south of there, so. Yeah, I did a harbor
tour recently and the narrator of the tour, the
person talking about all the sites that we were
seeing actually touched on this story. That's
why I thought it'd be fun to talk about. If you
want more information, good luck. I couldn't
find a lot. So that's why I had to write a story
myself, kind of loosely based on the facts that
were available to me. But again, we don't even
know if the duel actually happened. We do know
that there was a Lieutenant Massey and there
was a Lieutenant Drain. They did exist. There's
arguably enough evidence to say that the duel
also happened. We just, you know, we're guessing
that Massey died in the duel and that Drain went
on to be the victor and then get promoted to
captain. I'm sure the BPL has some other stuff
or if you really wanted to do a deep. Oh yeah.
Yeah. I was actually like, I got real deep. I
started looking up maps. I wanted to see like
kind of what everything looked like back then.
Castle Island, uh, was in fact an island, but
then they turned it into a peninsula. Yeah. And
the interesting thing I learned on the tour on
the Harbor tour is that a lot of the islands
on, um, a lot of Boston is just filled in islands.
Oh yeah. Yeah, I mean, Back Bay was literally
a bay. And it's not now. It's land. And the interesting
thing is, in Fallout, Spectacle Island was actually
a landfill. And when you play the game, it's
just this big grassy island that you can build
a settlement on. Logan Airport, I think, was
made up of three islands. One of them was actually
a gallows. It was an island where they would
hang pirates. That makes sense. Be the first
buyer to see when they come in. Yeah, exactly.
Exactly. That's exactly why they did it. So it's
really fascinating. There's a lot of crazy history
of Boston Harbor if you're all interested to
check it out. But that's all I got. That's our
story for today. Nice. Maynard, thank you for
coming in and hanging out with me. Do you have
anything you want to plug? You want to talk about
your Instagram or anything like that? Um, I mean,
you could visit, um, my Instagram and Twitter,
both at, uh, Maynard rules and threads and all
that, all that good stuff. There's all, there's
all sorts of stuff going on in the world and
you're probably going to hear about it in spurts.
And that's about it. Yeah. I don't know. I don't
know. These spurting all over the place. Well,
you know, maybe not that kind of, you know, I
don't need to sit here on there every day, but
then, you know, you'll give it a good run and
just get your thoughts out there. And that's
kind of what I do. I try go do something else.
I try with social media, but it's all fits and
starts with me. I'll have like a good period
where I'm posting all the time and then a period
where I'm not posting at all. Yeah, exactly.
But if you do want to follow the show, we post
very regularly. So we're at Cryptid Cocktail
on Instagram, Cryptid Cocktail Party on TikTok.
If you want to follow me or find any more information
about us, you can go to our Instagram. There's
a link on our Instagram page where you can find
all my stuff. I'm Sarge the Destroyer on everything.
Honestly, not to sound like a dick, but if you
just Google Sarge the Destroyer, you'll find
something with me in it. And then you can just
follow the link from there. There you go. That's
easy enough. Now, normally I'm the one who says
goodbye and I love you to the audience. But Maynard,
I thought maybe you wouldn't mind doing that.
So would you like to say goodbye and I love you
to the audience? Goodbye and I love you. Perfect.