All language subtitles for The.North.Water.S01E01.720p.WEB.H264-GGEZ_en

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Rum.

I'm leaving in the morning
on the Volunteer.

Give you my note of hand.

Do I look like a fool?

Well then, this good knife of
mine against a tot of your rum.

Heads or tails?

It's a fine knife, that.
It's not failed me yet.

Heads.

Aye, it's a fine knife.
I thank you for this.

Now get the fuck out of my bar.

Toss again.

I don't want your boots.

You have my knife.

You can't back away now.

I don't want
your bloody stinking boots.

I'll say it one more time.
You can't back away now.

I'll do
what the bloody hell I like.

Here.

I'll buy you a drink myself,
if you shut the fuck up.

Well, I thank you for it.
-Hm-hmm.

I've been whoring all morning
and the whistle's dry.

I'll take that
for you, sir.

Thank you.
Careful, careful.

I have it.

Come on, lads.
-All right so...

Bring it down.
-This is the wardroom.

That's it, yep.

That's Mr McKendrick there.

And here is you.

I'll put your trunk on your bed.

I'm Joseph Hannah.

If you need anything,
just call for me.

Don't worry,
your trunk will be safe.

And, uh, the Captain's
just waiting for you in there.

Thank you.
-You're welcome.

Yeah?
-Mr Sumner.

Come in.

I hear you were injured
out in India.

Yes. Shot by a sepoy musket ball
on the first day of the assault.

My shinbone bore the brunt,

but I'm totally recovered now,
though. Not even a limp.

I'm glad to hear it.

Tell me,
did you see Nicholson killed?

No. But I did see his body
afterwards. Up on the ridge.

An extraordinary man,
Nicholson.

A great hero.

You know, I heard he sliced
a pandy clean in half

with one swing of his sword,
like cutting a cucumber.

He had
a Pashtun bodyguard,

big, enormous sod named Khan.

He slept outside his tent
to protect him.

The rumour was,
the two of them were...

sweethearts.

Nothing but jealously.

Thank you.

If it weren't for men
like Nicholson,

the Empire would have been lost
long ago,

and then where would we be?

I saw him hang a man once
just for smiling at him.

The poor bugger
wasn't even smiling.

The lines must be drawn,
Mr Sumner.

Surely you agree

that civilised standards
must be maintained?

Sometimes we must meet fire
with fire.

They killed women and children,
raped them,

slashed
their tiny little throats.

Doesn't a thing like that
require righteous vengeance?

Oh, there was a good deal
of that going on.

Yes sir. Yes, indeed.

So tell me.

Why did you quit the 61st
and leave India?

I know it wasn't your leg.

A surgeon isn't in need
of two good legs.

Not the leg, no.

Well, then what?

Well, eight months ago,
my Uncle Donal died

and left me his dairy farm
over in County Mayo.

It's worth enough to buy me
a pretty little house

and a respectable practice
somewhere quiet but wealthy.

Scarborough, Hastings.

I do like a promenade, you see.

So why aren't you, uh,
attending to the ailments

of little old widows
instead of sitting here with me,

A famous Irish landowner
like yourself?

Legal complications.

Mysterious cousins
crept out of the woodwork,

counter-claimants, if you will.

It's always the way.

I'm told the case could take
another year to be resolved,

and until then, I have nothing to do
with myself nor any money to do it with.

I was passing through Liverpool on
my way back to the lawyers in Dublin

when I ran into your Mr Baxter
at the bar of the Adelphi Hotel.

We got to talking,

and when he learned that I was an ex-army
surgeon in need of gainful employment,

he put two and two together
and made a four.

Fierce operator, that Baxter.

Well, I'm not expecting
the whaling will make me rich,

but it will keep me occupied
at least. While the...

cogs of justice turn.

Oh, we'll find use for you
one way or the other.

Though your potions don't really
make a great deal of difference.

I mean no offence,
Captain, but...

potions?

Doctors tend to adhere
to science,

not witchcraft or superstition.

Well, you'll find the men
on board this ship

have very little use
for science.

Either way, I should examine
the medicine chest.

There may be one or two items
I need to add,

replace, replenish.

There's a chest
stowed in your cabin,

and there's an apothecary
on Clifford Street.

Get whatever you need from them

and tell them to send the bill
to Baxter.

Mr Baxter
won't like that much, I imagine.

Bugger Baxter.

You don't sound much
like an Irishman.

Well, I've been here
most of my life.

I'm more of an Englishman now.

Is that right?

Yes, Captain.

You know
what people call us whalers?

They say we're...

refugees from civilisation.

Well, that sounds
very appealing to me.

Sure.
But you'd be wise to remember

that at some point,
you have to return.

Welcome abroad, Mr Sumner.

Thank you.

Well...

Thanks again, Captain Brownlee.

"Spirit of Squills."

What was the last surgeon,
a fucking druid?

But I will make sure you
have a ready supply of laudanum

for the pain.

That will help with your frame
of mind too, I sure of it.

Hello.
-Hello, there.

Please.

Has Baxter seen this?

You think
I'd trouble Baxter with this?

He'll be troubled
when he sees this bloody bill.

I know Baxter, he's a right
tight-fisted bastard.

Just fill the order, please.

Well, I can't let you have
all that laudanum.

Why not?

If I do,
I won't get paid for it.

You can have
the regular allowance.

Do you do
all these yourself then?

Oh, aye.

I'm, uh, I'm the best
taxidermist in town.

You can ask anyone.

What's the biggest beast
you've ever stuffed?

I mean, the very biggest?
I want the truth.

I've done a walrus. Oh, aye.

I've done a polar bear too.

You've sluffed a bear?
-I have.

Now then. That is something
I would like to see.

Aye, did it for your Mr Baxter.

What I did was, I set him up
on his hindmost legs

with his vicious claws
raking the frigid air

like this, look.

Would you ever stuff a whale?

Whale can't be stuffed.

I mean, apart from the size,
it'd putrefy.

Why don't we change the name
on this?

Change this to absinthe
or calomel.

We already, uh,
we already got calomel.

Ah, yes. Well, absinthe then.

I tell you what.

We could put blue vitriol.

Surgeons use a good amount of that.

Blue vitriol it is.
-Right.

You.

Over here.

Get me a plate of mussels from
the fishmonger's on Bourne Street.

Bourne Street, ye understand?

I don't wanna be shitting myself
all the way to Greenland.

You like that?

Buy me another drink.

Fuck off.

Just one more drink and then
that'll be the last you'll hear of it.

I'd sooner cut
your fucking balls off

than buy you another drink. Huh?

Could cut your nose off too.

Feed it to the porkers out back.

I want you gone.

Fucking...

You can stick that shillelagh
up your fucking arse.

God. Fucking hell.

Rum, please.

You got money?

Yes.
-All right.

I don't want any trouble.

I don't want any trouble either.

There you go.

After all that has beset me,

all the betrayal
and humiliation,

all the disgrace,

the death of my parents
from typhus,

the death of my protector
William Harper from the drink,

my many efforts misdirected
or abandoned,

my many plans gone awry.

Who are you?

Yet, even after India

I am still alive, still intact,
still breathing.

It is true
that I am nothing now,

just a surgeon
on a Yorkshire whaler,

but isn't to be nothing,

if looked at
from a different angle,

not to be anything at all?

Then not lost as such,
but at liberty.

Finally free.

You make a noise and I'll slice
you open like a fucking codfish.

This bastard should have
bought me another fucking drink.

We need to move this bastard now
or I'll be in the shit.

So move him.

I ain't moving him.

You did this, you move him.

You're a strong fella,
aren't you?

Well, they can find him
tomorrow. I'll be gone by then.

Why don't you give us
a shilling or two?

For all the trouble
you've caused.

Get out.

Now.

Ah, yes.

What do you make
of our Paddy surgeon?

Did you see
what I got him for?

Two pounds a month
and a shilling a ton.

That's a record, near enough.

Do you believe
his dead uncle story

and the inheritance?

Of course not.
Complete hogwash.

He's not the skilful liar
he thinks he is.

Do you think he's been cashiered?

Well, if he has been, so what?

What do they dismiss you for
over there now anyways?

Cheating at bridge?
Drinking too much gin?

Buggering the bugle boy?

He'll... he'll do for us.

Can't wait to see
what gaggle of shitheads

you've got waiting for me
up in Lerwick.

All good men. Shetlanders,
hard workers, biddable.

Aye. It doesn't make up
for Cavendish.

It's a bad choice
making him first mate.

Cavendish is a great turd and a
whore-monger, true, but we need him.

You should know
I aim to fill the hold.

Fill it with what exactly?

More blubber than anyone's
ever seen for many a long year.

Yeah, you don't have
to prove yourself to me, Arthur.

I know what you are.
-I'm a whaling man.

And a damned fine one,
but what would be the point?

The problem we have,
it's not you, it's not me.

It's history. History.

I don't ask that you bury
your instincts, Arthur.

But you cannot fuck this up.

Don't misremember
what we're up to here.

It's not a question of pride,
not yours and not mine.

And it's definitely not
about the fucking fish.

Twelve thousand pounds, Arthur.

That's a considerable
heap of money.

A great deal more than
you'll ever hope to make

from killing whales.

And only Cavendish knows?

Yes. Keep it that way.
-And what about Drax?

Keep him close, and if the time
comes, you can call on him.

And you can assure me that Captain
Morwood will be there to take me men?

The Hastings will be there.

I can't risk a repeat
of the Percival.

He... He'll be there, Arthur.
Morwood will be there.

He knows if this goes well,
he's next in line.

And this is what it's comes to.

Twelve thousand pounds
to sink a fine ship.

It's the money, Arthur,
that's all it is.

The money does what it wants to.

Doesn't care what we prefer.

Block off one passageway
and it carves a new one.

I can't control the money,
Arthur.

I can't tell it what to do
or where to go next.

I wish I could.

Then you'd better pray there's enough
ice up there to make this believable.

If there's one man alive

who has the true knack
for finding it,

I believe it's you.

Ready to make sail.

Ready the gaffs!
-Yes, Captain. Ready the gaffs.

Ready the gaffs.
-Aye, Mr Cavendish.

Cavendish!
-Aye aye, Captain.

Ready the foresail!

Yes, Captain.
Ready the foresail.

Ready the foresail.
-All right, Mr Jones.

Set the foresail.
-Aye, Mr Cavendish.

Cavendish?
-Yes, Captain?

Set the gaffs!

Aye aye, Captain.
Set the gaffs.

Captain.

"We men are wretched things,

and the gods,
who have no cares themselves,

have woven sorrows into
the very pattern of our lives."

Cavendish.

Can I help you?

What you doing?

Reading.

What?
-Homer.

So we have an intellectual
on board?

I wonder how he'll cope
with us rough brutes of the sea.

Do you need me for something,
Mr Cavendish?

Do you have some sort
of ailment or affliction?

Of course not.
Strong as a walrus.

No, I came to tell ya that
once we get to Lerwick,

a few of us plan to test the
achievements of the local distillery.

So far,
there is my second mate Jones.

He's a cool customer, claims
to only drink ginger beer.

And then there's...
-What has this got to do with me?

We are inviting you
to join us, of course.

I'll see you on deck.

Here's our surgeon.
Mr Sumner, this is Jones.

Welcome.
-Thank you.

And over there is our
master harpooner, Mr Henry Drax.

Pleased to make
your acquaintance.

As you'll soon discover,
Drax is a man of few words.

Please.

First time in Lerwick?

Yes.
-You'll find it a backwards sort of place.

And thank God for that.

A decent drink and a good wet
slice of pussy is all a man needs

before he embarks
on the bloody work of whaling.

Fortunately, those are
the only two products

Lerwick excels in.

If it's whisky and women
that you're after,

you're certainly
in the right town.

I feel fortunate
to have such experienced guides.

Oh, you are fortunate.

Here, Drax? What do you say
we show our surgeon

the ins and the outs
of this elegant town?

Well...

The cheapest whisky is sixpence.

A decent whore will set you back
a shilling, possibly two,

if your requirements
are more specialised.

See what I mean?
A man of few words.

I want a woman to fuck,

and I don't care
what she looks like.

Excuse me, gents.
-Thank you.

One ginger beer please, sir.

Mr Sumner,
what would you like to drink?

Ale please, my boy.
-And an ale.

Thank you.

Come on then,
you Scottish beauty.

You sure you don't wanna
partake in Lerwick's finest?

No. No, I believe a good surgeon
is in need of some ethics.

Either that or I do not wish to
set sail with a dose of the clap.

Can I ask you a question?

What are you doing
on the Volunteer?

What do you mean?
-Well...

the job of a surgeon on a whaling
vessel doesn't seem fit for you,

someone so experienced
from what I hear.

And what have you heard?

Not a great deal,

but usually, a ship's surgeon
is taken by a medical student

in need of funds,
not a man like you.

Perhaps I am
an incurable eccentric.

Or just a fool.

I doubt either is true.

Uh, to tell you the truth,
I was after a change.

What, you mean,
you're running away?

No, Baxter made me an offer,
and I accepted it.

Perhaps that was rash of me
but now that we've begun,

I'm looking forward
to the experience.

I intend to keep a journal,
make sketches,

read.

The voyage may not be as relaxed
as you think.

Captain's got a great deal
to prove.

Uh, did you hear
of the Percival?

Yeah, what of it?

Well, it was Brownlee's
last command.

It went down three years ago,
crushed to matchwood by a berg,

eight men drowned
and even more perished of cold.

None that survived
even made a sixpence.

Sounds like the kind of misfortune
that could happen to anybody.

Aye, yeah, but it happened to Brownlee,
didn't it? No one else.

And a captain that unfortunate
doesn't get another ship.

So you have to ask yourself, how
come he gets another command?

Baxter must trust him, I'd say.

I guess he must.

So why are you here?
-I've got a plan.

Five years from now,
with my share of luck,

I'll have my own command.

And you think a plan
helps a man?

Men like me need a plan.
That's the God's truth of it.

Hey.

Mr Jones.

Whisky mind.
-Cheers.

Cheers.
-Cheers, lads.

How was she?

Well, I've had worse
for a shilling.

I bet you have.

Oh, they're from the Zembla.

Our Mr Jones over there
is a smug little prick.

He has a plan.

Fuck his plan.

He wants his own ship,
but he won't get it.

He has no idea
what's going on here.

Which is?

Oh, nothing much.

I heard all about Delhi.

I heard there was money
to be made, loot aplenty.

Do you get anything?
-No.

The pandies had cleaned out the
whole city before we'd got in.

All that was left was broken
furniture and stray dogs.

The place was totally ransacked.

No stolen gold then? No jewels?

Do you think I'd be sat here

talking to you pair of bastards
if I was rich?

Well, there's rich
and then there's rich.

And I am neither.

You saw some famous butchery
though, I'd bet.

Some heinous fucking violence.

I'm a surgeon.
-So?

I'm not impressed by bloodshed.

Not impressed?

Surprised then, if, if you like.

Surprised. I'm not surprised
by bloodshed. Not anymore.

Well, I'm not too surprised
by bloodshed neither.

Mr Cavendish, are you surprised?

No, not too often.

I generally find I can take
a little bloodshed in my stride.

Hold this.

Watch that for me.

Oh, shit. Not again.

Where's Jones?
We're gonna need some help.

Hey, hey, hey, hey!

Look out!

Who are you?

Who are you?

Pani?

Pani.

Water please, please.

Pani.

Pani.
-Pani?

Yes. Water, yes. Yes. Please.

Do not tell anybody I'm here.

Do you understand me?

Do not tell anybody I'm here.

Pani?
-Pani.

Here he is.

What you doing?

Michael?

Oh, fuck.

Here, hold this.

Nothing but shite.

Opium pipe? My, my.

Shh!

Hello there.

You need to learn to read.

Fuck off.

Army discharge papers.
-Hmm.

He's been court-martialled.

No pension, out on his ear.
-For what?

Don't say.

Give that. Just let me...
-Fuck off.

Paste.

Must be.

Let me have a look, will ya?

Shit, it's deep.

You lying
little bastard.

This is stolen Hindu loot.
Good stuff, too.

Why not sell it on?

It makes him feel safer.

Safer?

Loot like that
could get a man in trouble.

And a whaling voyage,

it's full of dangers.

A few among us
will not come home alive.

That's a simple fact.

And if ever a man perishes
while on board or on the ice,

it is the appointed task
of the first mate

to auction off his possessions
for the sake of the poor widow,

not that this ugly sod
will have a wife.

But not yet.

Not in Lerwick.
-Fuck, no, not yet.

I don't mean yet.

Put everything back as it was.

Do you think Brownlee knows?

No one knows but us.

Oh, I don't trust myself,
I don't trust the boat either.

Here we go.

Fuck me. Oh, not again.
Here we go again.

Thank you, Lord,
Mary and Joseph,

for looking after me
on these seas.

Good morning.
-Mr Sumner.

Mr Sumner.

Make fast on that.

Ho!

I'm Otto.

Harpooner.
-Patrick Sumner.

I'm the surgeon.

I know.

So when can I expect
our first whale hunt?

Not until
we pass the Cape.

Seals come first.
-I see.

Poor bastards.

I've been reading a lot
of William Scoresby.

He says a Greenland whale can
hold a boatful of men in its mouth.

Oh, yeah.
I guess it's true.

But she's a timid fish,

playful, slow.

Makes her easy to catch.

Dangerous, the flukes.

Could split you in half.

There'll be bears too,
apparently?

Oh, yeah. There'll be bears.

He doesn't know.

He's got no idea.
-Look at him.

He's got no chance.
Not once we hit the ice.

Lower the boats.
-Come on, lads.

He's quite something.

Oh, yes.

It's why Baxter likes him.

He takes a larger sum
of the money, I should think.

I don't think it's money
that motivates Henry Drax.

Then what?

I don't wish to know.

Get out of the way.

There he is.
The master.

Hey.
-There he is.

Leave some
for the rest of us, hey?

Hut, hut, there you go.

A hundred skins
is a good fucking day.

It should yield
up to three tons of oil.

And each ton will bring in about 40 pounds,
I'd say, with some luck on our side.

But we must press on tomorrow
before the pack scatters.

Here.

We mustn't let those Norwegian
fuckers beat us to our prize.

So tomorrow,
we'll send out a third boat,

and anyone still breathing,

or can hold a rifle,
will be out there killing.

The surgeon could join us.

Unless he has a book to read.

Or someone's haemorrhoid
to ram back in.

Mr Sumner? What do you say?

I'd say I'm able.

Enough to try my level best,
anyway.

Good man.
-Good.

So tomorrow,
our surgeon will join the hunt.

Aye, Captain.

Back to work.

Aye, Captain.

Come on, lads.

You heard him.

That's all right then.
-Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, yep.

It is a grave mistake
to think too much.

Why board the Volunteer?

Why sealing?
Why whaling?

There is no reason
and that is its great genius,

the illogic of it,
the near idiocy.

Perhaps life cannot be puzzled
or blathered into submission

but should be lived through

and survived in whatever
fashion a man can manage.

Maybe cleverness
will get you nowhere.

Maybe it is only the stupid,

the brilliantly stupid,

who will inherit the earth.

That's it, Mr Sumner.

Come on.

Ah. Yeah.

Aye, aye, aye.

God.

Here we go.

Mr Drax!

Mr Drax!

Could you spare me a hand,
please?

Drax!

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