This strange and disturbing tale, which I had not heard of before, was in today's Quora:
The Dreadful Task of Michael Abrantes
Around the cusp of the 18th and 19th centuries there lived in Boston a respected stonemason named Michael Abrantes, one of the most skilled men of his profession. One evening he was dining in a finer establishment close upon Scollay Square, and after finishing and departing the tavern he was stopped by several men, including a grey-haired gentleman who appeared to be their leader. He addressed Abrantes by name and explained that he had a special commission he wished to hire the mason to perform. His terms were unusual -- he wished to hire Abrantes for the entire night, explaining that the job had to be completed by morning, for which he would be paid $500 in gold (something on the order of $10,000 today). The materials were already prepared for the work to be done; Abrantes need only accompany them to the job site.
Abrantes perceived that there was something odd afoot; he even confessed later that he thought he should have refused right then. Nevertheless, in addition to the very generous payment the unknown gentleman had promised, his curiosity was piqued. He agreed to take the job, provided they could stop by his business to retrieve his tool bag and allow him to change into his work clothes. With that, the men climbed into a waiting carriage, and the curtains inside were immediately drawn shut. After the short stop at Abrantes' establishment, the carriage headed on, but then soon stopped in a deserted area of the Boston Neck. The elder gentleman then explained to Abrantes that, in order for his plans to be carried out successfully, it was going to be necessary to blindfold the stonemason. The men to either side of Abrantes held him firmly while the grey-haired leader wrapped a large white handkerchief securely around his eyes, and the party set off once again.
With that, what followed was a journey of over an hour, and Abrantes paid close attention to the sound of the carriage wheels to try to ascertain where they were going. He could hear the cobbled streets of Boston underneath them, then listened as they passed over wooden bridges, then heard the sound of a dirt road. Eventually he heard the sound of the carriage passing over another wooden bridge, then shortly afterward the vehicle stopped. Abrantes was gripped tightly and guided out of the carriage and down a flight of steps to a level wooden floor and through some sort of entrance, still efficiently blindfolded. He heard a door shut behind him, then found himself led through a series of passageways until he was finally brought into a room and made to sit at a table. It was only then that his mysterious employers removed his blindfold, and he perceived that he was in a rather large room of almost surreal aspect. Around all four sides were numerous candles arranged in tiers, a total of 180 by his estimate, and behind them all the walls were hung with black drapes. In fact, the floor, the ceiling, and all of the furniture in the room were similarly covered by black cloth, giving the chamber a sinister atmosphere.
At the far end of the room several white cords hung down, and the grey-haired gentleman stood near them. He pulled the cords and revealed a granite wall behind the drapes, in the middle of which was a hollow niche. A pile of granite blocks was arranged nearby, along with buckets of mortar which had been very recently mixed. Abrantes could tell immediately that a section of the wall had been pulled down by inexperienced hands to create the niche, which measured about six feet long by about three feet high and about four feet in depth, roughly 75 cubic feet and backed up by bare earth. The man explained to the mason that his task would be to shortly reconstruct the wall for them. With that, they left the room and he was alone for a few moments, but his solitude did not last long. Several men he had not seen before now entered the room, all of them wearing black cloaks and masks, who lined up along one side of the room. They were immediately followed by the men who had brought him in the carriage, and they dragged a tearful and beautiful young woman forcibly into the room. She immediately went down on her knees before the men assembled there and begged for them to have pity on her. She singled out the grey-haired man, throwing her arms around his knees, appealing to God and entreating the man to spare her life. He, on the other hand, raised a hand in signal and the other men seized her and dragged her over to the niche.
Turning to Abrantes, the leader told him that the time had come to earn his fee. The horror-struck stonemason surveyed the terrible scene, understanding what he was being asked to do, and the woman turned her attention to him and begged him not to carry out his task. However, at this outcry the men in the room drew daggers and the leader told him that they would cut him to pieces if he did not proceed. The woman was bound and gagged and placed in the niche. Abrantes balked in terror, telling the grey-haired man that he refused to participate in murder. He was told that it was too late now, he would either die with her or she would die alone -- it was his choice. However, the leader also told him that Abrantes would be paid double the agreed-upon fee for the work. He also told the terrified mason some other details that he would recall later.
"You cannot possibly know what you are talking about, refusing us. This woman has committed an act which affects her family in such a way that she must be forever done away with. She is not of New England, and what she has done cannot be undone. None of this concerns you, but your skills as a stonemason are vital to us right now. If you wish to remain alive you must do this task. Our time is short; we must sail at dawn. I will give you one minute to make up your mind."
Realizing that there was nothing to be done for it, Abrantes reluctantly picked up his trowel and began his horrible task. The young woman's eyes watched his every move as he skillfully replaced each block of granite and cemented them in place, the other men assisting him to move the heavy stones into position. As he grimly carried out his work, Abrantes carefully memorized every detail of the wall and the placement of each of the blocks, all the while listening to the dreadful, muffled shrieking of the poor woman in the gradually closing cavity. Finally, after two hours the job was done, and Abrantes stepped back to look at the solid granite surface he had reconstructed. The grey-haired gentleman handed him the heavy bag of gold and the other men immediately replaced the blindfold over his eyes again. He was once again led back through the building and out to the carriage, and he was conveyed back the way they had come for another hour-long journey. Finally, he was let out onto a sidewalk, a sharp command rang out from inside the carriage, and the coachman sped the vehicle away. Abrantes pulled off the handkerchief and found that it was nearly dawn. He returned home quickly and immediately drew a sketch from his fresh memory of the wall in which he had entombed the young woman.
Michael Abrantes was a very pious man, and he resolved to go to the Old South Church and speak with his pastor, the Reverend Dr. Joseph Eckley (who was the minister of the church from 1779-1811, thus dating this story). However, he would not be able to see him for several hours, so finally at 9:00 AM he found the cleric in his parsonage and unburdened his dire tale to the man in its entirety. While Dr. Eckley was initially reluctant to believe the account, Abrantes assured the pastor that he was as sober as a judge and had been for days. He also showed him the fifty $20 gold pieces he had been paid as further proof of his veracity. Finally, Dr. Eckley agreed that he and the anxious stonemason should go to the authorities and tell them what had happened before time and air ran out for the girl in the wall. However, the inspector assigned to hear the events was dubious as well, and Abrantes began to realize that very few people were ever likely to believe his version of the terrible events of the night before. Given the many questions the inspector asked, both men realized that this police official seemed quite convinced that Abrantes had simply had a vivid dream, the $1,000 notwithstanding.
In the end, a thorough investigation was carried out, but the hours stretched into days, the days into weeks, then months, finally years. For the poor Michael Abrantes, he was often haunted by the thought that, as he walked the streets of his familiar city, he might at any moment be within yards of the place where he had walled up a living woman and consigned her to her doom. While he still had his sketch of the wall he had rebuilt, he never did find it again until the end of his days.
In an interesting postscript, Edward Rowe Snow concludes his tale with the following:
"The wall, incidentally, has recently been identified, but unfortunately for those who might like to break down the granite tiers and investigate the crypt, the owner of the property has asked me never to reveal where it is. He has, however, consented to my inclusion of Abrantes' sketch among the illustrations of this book." The photo of the purported wall, with the sketch overlaid on it, is included here.
Was this simply another of New England's many tales of folklore out of its distant past? Was it in fact a true incident, and if so then what was the substance of it? Was this some kind of grim Old World-style "honor killing" carried out by a disgraced, prideful father or a cuckolded husband? Is the body of Michael Abrantes' unintended victim really sealed up behind the wall in this photo? We will likely never know.
