The “ghosts” of Devens are haunting memories of those who lived and died at the former fort, or who are buried at the Fort Devens Cemetery. And while there have been sightings and mysterious activities, we imply no connection to any real ghosts.

In this second of a three-part series, local correspondent David Keith continues his conversation with Corporal Jason Grant, a character who claims to be Devens’s oldest resident, in which Grant relates legends rumored to be true.

A soldier returns home, and Poe’s inspiration

Keith: When you said Lieutenant Johnston was just passing through, did you mean his ghost?

Grant: No, his body. Do you want to hear about it?

Keith: Sure.

Grant: Johnston’s ship, the Atlanta, is caught trying to run a Union blockade of Savannah Harbor. In the ensuing action, one Confederate sailor is killed, 16 wounded, and the ship surrenders in June 1863. All of the officers are sent to Fort Warren.

Keith: The Lady in Black’s original haunt.

Lieutenant Robert Massie died in a duel and his remains were moved to Fort Devens from Castle Island in Boston Harbor in 1939. (Photo by Lisa Aciukewicz)

Grant: That’s right. It’s extremely cold in a stone fort in the middle of Boston Harbor, especially for a southerner, and Johnston dies of pneumonia in October. His last wish is to be buried with his head facing south, which is granted. Out of loyalty and Southern tradition, his fellow officers pay $75 for a tombstone that covers the entire grave.

Keith: That should help him rest in peace.

Grant: It does for awhile, but due to the Army’s cemetery consolidation, Johnston is dug up and moved to Governor’s Island and then to Deer Island.

Keith: Our tax dollars hard at work. Did they keep his head facing south?

Grant: I don’t know, but they do haul that giant tombstone around with him. And in the 1930s descendants try to have him relocated south but find it’s too costly to move the stone.

Keith: Wouldn’t the government help?

Grant: Apparently not. But soon afterward they move him to Devens.

Keith: That figures.

Grant: After a while, a group of Civil War buffs discovers that he’s the last known Confederate POW buried in the north and take up his cause. They collect funds, find the family, and on October 12, 2002, the giant tombstone is lifted and Lieutenant Johnston is removed from Yankee soil for the last time.

Keith: Sounds like a big deal.

Grant: It was. The two-hour ceremony includes Confederate re-enactors, a pipe and drum corps, the U.S.S. Constitution color guard; it is broadcast on three Boston television stations. The next day he and his tombstone head south.

Keith: Where is he taken?

Grant: To Florida, where he’s placed aboard a replica of the Atlanta and sailed up river to be buried next to his wife and children. After 140 years and five gravesites, the epitaph on his tombstone comes true: “This marks the final resting place of Lieutenant Johnston.”

Keith: Does anything remain of Johnston’s presence at Devens?

Grant: Just an outdated mention of him on the entrance sign, and an empty spot where he used to be buried.

Keith: Where’s that?

Grant: Next to Robert Massie’s grave in the northwest corner of the cemetery. Come to think of it, Massie’s tale is a haunting one.

Keith: Go on.

Grant: As a young lieutenant in the War of 1812, Massie’s stationed at Fort Independence on Castle Island. Another officer there, named Gustavus Drane, is always bullying the men, especially junior ones like Robert. One day, an argument over cards leads to blows, and Massie challenges Drane to a duel. Robert’s fellow officers warn him that Gustavus is an expert swordsman and beg him to withdraw.

Keith: Probably good advice.

Grant: He doesn’t listen and is killed easily. The other officers are outraged and decide to end Drane’s reign of terror. One evening they act friendly and start drinking with the man. They wait ’til he’s good and drunk, and lure him downstairs to a dungeon, promising it’s a secret wine cellar.

Keith: This sounds familiar.

Grant: You’ll soon realize why. Upon reaching the spot where the wine should be, Drane turns to complain, but one of the officers bashes his head with a brick. They then drag him into the dark, dank, room and clamp chains to his wrists and ankles.

Keith: That should keep him out of trouble.

Grant: Just to be sure, they begin cementing bricks across the doorway. With military efficiency, they quickly lay row upon row. But soon, over the scraping of trowels, they hear the moans and groans of Gustavus waking up. The tallest officer peers over the fresh bricks to see the man stagger to his feet and lurch toward the door, but he’s wrenched back by the chains.

Keith: I’m starting to feel bad for the guy.

Grant: The young officers don’t. Driven by hatred of Drane, they double their efforts as his shrieks echo off countless slimy walls, never reaching a sympathetic ear. Laying one last brick, they end his shouting, his badgering, and his memory forever.

Keith: What a lousy way to die.

Grant: Dying isn’t so bad, just the part leading up to it.

Keith: How insightful. Now why do I know this story?

Grant: Ten years later, a fellow named Edgar Allen Poe is serving at the fort and hears rumors about a man walled up to die. That legend becomes the inspiration for two of his stories, “The Black Cat” and “The Cask of Amontillado.”

Keith: So far, you’ve talked about people who died on the harbor islands and then moved to Devens because the Army had nothing better to do. Has anyone died here so they didn’t have to be moved?

Grant: Hundreds of soldiers died at Devens in 1918, but they’re buried somewhere else.

Keith: That makes perfect sense.

Next: An epidemic, Nazi POWs, and the haunting of Hale Hall.