Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1894-10-17
ANDY COPLEY'S LIE.

ANDY COPLEY'S LIE.
OF the old folk of the bleak little sea-
port, Andrew Copley dwells most vivid
ly in my memory. AS prosperity is
gauged at Port st. Bede, Andrew, the
owner Of some half dozen fully equipped
fishing smacks, was accounted pros
porous man. I recall him now-his
kindly face, tanned and netted in wrin-
kles; his long hair, grizzled this many \
day; his stubby gray beard; his light
blue eyes, bespectacled for reading-yes,
there he sits. Many are the ''cracks" I
have had with him. Yet there was one
story he chose to leave buried in silence
and that his own. never dared
broach the topic, albeit I inwardly
burned with impatient curiosity. One
day, however, the history became mine
unsolicited. Some remark I CHANGED to
let slip anent his lifelong bachelorhood
caused an infrequent faraway look to
settle upon his eyes. We were walking
up the steep, cobble paved ''street" at
the time, past the lime washed front OF
the Trawlers' inn to the higher ground,
from which the old Norman church
tower kept ward over the slumberous
village.
"Why haze / never married, say yer"
the old man exclaimed after long
spell of silence. Like enow, yell hear
afore long, an don't see what should
stop me fro tellin ye mysen, if SO be. "
Hurriedly stepping into the roadway,
Andrew whipped off his broad brimmed
hat and stood motionless. Turning into
the sanded lane that zigzagged past the
church, we had well nigh jostled two
slow paced women, the younger Of them
about so years of age, the elder 20 years
or so older. 1t was the latter that at
tracted my marked regard, for it was
toward her that Andrew held his down
bent head A wan, frail looking crea-
ture she was, dressed in black, with
close fitting, old fashioned bonnet tied
under her chin i'll bow Of broad black
ribbon. Her hair, smoothed evenly upon
her forehead, shimmered silverly as the
new churned foam in the bay. She
moved haltingly, even with the aid of
an oaken staff and the helping arm Of
her companion.
Withdrawing her arm, she paused in
the pathway and pointed her stick to-
ward the bareheaded old fisherman. In
thin, quavering tones, as If the words
were said by rote, there being no ve-
hemence in her utteranee, she cried:
"Ah, I knaw ye-I knaw ye. Ban ye,
for no speakin me fair" With no more
passion than if she were repeating some
soulless formula, she added: Course ye,
Andrew Copley! It was lie! Curse ye
| for,tl''
''Come awa'P' the other woman put
| in coaxingly Come thee AVA home,
them -'2tt
Unresisting, the old lady allowed her.
self to be led away. Through it all An
drew did not stir limb, but stood there
with doffed hat, his head bowed and his
name of gray hair ruffling in the breeze.
We had left the church behind, the
deep rutted lane, the narrow stone style
that gave upon the fields. We had trav-
ersed half the length of the meadows
themselves before he spoke.
eye asked me how twas never mar
ried," said he slowly. "That is the
reason"
So he began upon his life story. But
as his narrative would be hard to follow
| if I adhered to his exact words with his
| numerous digressions and irrelevancies,
uttered with quaint bur of tongue,
! and, moreover, as his modesty saw fit
| to gloss over certain facts which heard
| of later in other quarters, I venture to
| set it forth after my own fashion.
We bark back full half century.
| Port st. Bede-no vast size at this pres
ent--was then mere nest Of sandstone,
shale rooted cottages, planted at the
foot of the hill and struggling disjoint-
edly up to it from the street" Later
improvements have displaced or rebuilt
most of these one storied dwellings and
filled in the gaps, but the old Trawlers'
innslooks just as it looked 80 years ago.
It lies back some ten PAGES from the
roadway, the shingled space thus OBJ
tanned being highly favored of loungers
and gossips. The spot served an identi
cal purpose so far back as the Oldest
memory goes.
| A little knot of fisher men and wom-
en- foregathered there one Wednesday
morning to await the arrival of the Mo-
perland letter carrier. Twice week, On
Wednesdays and Saturdays, he trudged
the ten miles to deliver his meager
package of letters. He always made his
way first to the Trawlers', where it had
become customary for the populace-
those who did not expect letters alike
with those who did-to assemble and
waylay him. In that manner the canny
souls got news from the outside world
without being put to the expense of a
postal fee, while the official on his part
was quit of his letters all the sooner.
On this particular morning, however,
the gayety Of the group was under
eclipse. They talked together in hushed
tones, full Of concern, every now and
then preferring question to the
bronzed, middle aged seaman in their
midst.
"An ye're sure ye've got the reights
o. It, Jake?'' queried big faced wom.
an, whose skinny petticoat showed hel
ample brogues and shapeless ankles.
It'll kill t'lass if she hears O. t..
,'fOh, I'm moan mista 'en-not me, y
answered the seaman positively. Il seed
him mysen i Grimsby not three days
back, an I card it read out j. church
the second time O. akin it were-las
Sunday"
"Poor maid, poor maid! An her wait
in for him here as patient an lovin al
onybody could wish. All, them men,
them menr'
While the frowsy old crone was shak
ing her gray locks over the perfidy o
mankind she stole sidelong look to
ward the window bench, against whlcl
Andrew Copley-then a well set III
young fellow of four and twenty-wa