thee streamside companion & angler's frequent respite

treatise, pomes, fine etchings & lyrics re. and not re. flyfishing (with an angle)

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Meet Billy Clark

Ordway, likesay, is a hickory tough Yankee rascal. Square as a shingle and serious as the sun. Gots nothing against him, no beef, no trouble, but gots no thought in my head as to what he'd utter.
Sah, it's good information. Boy can catch thum. Good water man, a tolerable good shot and I huv seen the boy in a few close scraps. He can load and fiyuh ahnd he shows no fear, Sah.
I felt my hart thudding against my ribs and the big man picked up his pen and scratched something. What have you for rigging, Private?
Sir... I've got the Ironwood of 12 feet, Sir, with 150 yards on a spool. She is for the cats, Sir. It’s a stout fucker, Sir. Pardon, Sir. For the trouts, I huv the Greenwood with 50 yards on a spindle. The Ironwood, Sir, she is trusty for me. She can really bring thum up. Strong likes. And for the trout, I cannot be beat on the greenwood. She is the sovereign on the streams, sir. Whitefish and trout. I cannot be beat, Sir. Not by any man here. Not by any man in Illinois, Sir. Or Kaintuck, Sir.
Drewer's hands is still on my back. He slaps me again. Bring the cats to my man York here, Billy Clark says, pointing over at the big nig, and bring your rifle out to the range. On your way fetch Private Whitehouse.

Hard upon the beech oar
She moves too slow
All the way tay Mandan town
Long way tay go

Hard upon the beech oar
Up Mizzou we go
All the way tay Cook's Sound
Long way tay go

Hard upon the beech oar
Row you bastards row
Big John is blowing our roofs down
And it's a long way to go