All language subtitles for the.north.water.s01e01.1080p.web.h264-ggez-eng

Whew!

By M_I_S
www.opensubtitles.org

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.

Huh?

Mm.

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?

- Hmm.
- 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.

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!