All language subtitles for The North Water - 01x02 - We Men Are Wretched Things.GGEZ+GGWP+ION10.

Sumner?

Sumner?

Sumner?

Sumner?

Sumner!

Mr. Sumner?

Sumner?

Patrick?

Dear God.

Right, up. Up.

Careful with him, Otto.
Watch him, watch him.

Now bring him... bring him down.

- Bring him down.
- Aye, Mr. Jones.

Is the poor fucker even breathing?

I think so.

Bring him to the wardroom.

Gimme a hand, Otto.

Someone grab the goose fat. Hurry.

Where's the boiling water?

Uh-huh. Yeah.

It's nearly there.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Hot towels, Joseph.
Get the hot towels, please.

- As many as you can.
- Aye, Mr. Jones.

Jones, let's get him to his cabin.

He'll be more comfortable there.

Mr. Sumner? Can you hear me?

Otto, get the brandy.

You'll be all right.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

- Lay down.
- How is he?

He's showing signs of improvement.

Make sure he never goes out again.

I don't want another death
on me conscience.

He's fucking blessed is what he is.

It's a miracle, that's what it is.

Oh, miracle or not, from now on,
we mariners will hunt fish,

and the surgeon will remain safe
in this cabin here,

reading his Homer or pulling his pizzle,

or whatever the fuck it is
he does in here.

Easy enough for some.

The surgeon has his job on this ship,

and you have yours.

Let that be the end of it.

Aye, Captain.

- Laudanum.
- Good work, men.

Laudanum. Laudanum.

Yeah, it's coming now.

He might still die.

Seems to me he'll be a difficult
bastard to finish off.

Brownlee's sweet on him too.
We need to be careful.

The further we sail,
the more dangers he'll face.

How much d'you reckon that ring's worth?

I'd say 20 guineas, even 25.

- It ain't your ring.
- Ain't your ring either.

Or the surgeon's, for that matter.

I'd say it belongs to whichever cunt
has his hands on it at the time.

I'd say that's about right.

Pani?

Pani.

Pani.

- Pani?
- Yes.

Water, yes. Yes. Please.

Twenty years ago,
my parents left me too.

They were sent to
a typhus hospital in Castlebar,

County Mayo.

That's where I'm from, in Ireland.

A long, long way.

My mother took my hand,

and she promised me she'd be back.

She swore it.

But she never returned.

I was left alone for days.

I knew that they had died,

long before William Harper
had come to save me.

He was the surgeon who treated them.

Don't be afraid, my boy.

He was wearing green tweed...

and muddy pigskin boots.

That's what I remember the most.

The smell of the wool... and the leather

as he carried me outside in his arms.

When the British soldiers
get here tomorrow,

I'm going to keep you safe.

I promise you.

I will keep you safe.

No! No! No, no!

I'm a good fucking shot me!

It takes three long
weeks to pass Cape Farewell,

and my recovery is painful and slow.

Brownlee tells me that many vessels
have been lost in these waters,

and we should be merciful
that we have been preserved.

Otto is convinced
that I died on the ice.

That I left my body
and travelled to higher realms.

Do you know about Master Swedenborg?

He describes a spirit place

as a broad green valley
surrounded by mountains,

where the dead souls, they gather

before being separated
into the saved and the damned.

Well, if there is such a pleasant place,

then I certainly never saw
any sign of it.

You would have met the dead,
spoke with them.

Do you remember that?

No. No, I do not.

I don't know who
or what I saw on the ice.

But I did not die.

I have not been saved or damned.

If I had died, I would be new somehow,

and there is nothing new about me.

As we travel north towards Baffin Bay,

the crew are kept busy

splicing whale lines
and overhauling harpoons.

Morale seems high after
the success of the sealing

and the men are desperate
to hunt some fish.

And I am here to do my job too.

I give them poultices,
plasters, ointments and balms.

They are grateful for these attentions,

these signs of care.

They have a faith in me,
foolish, but real.

Morning, cook.

But to me, they are bodies only.

Legs, arms, torsos, heads.

Towards the rest of them, their
moral characters, I remain indifferent.

It is not my task to educate them

or move them towards virtue.

It is not my task to judge,
soothe or befriend them.

I am a medical man.

Not a priest or a magistrate
or a spouse.

In fact,

in my current state, I have
very little comfort to give.

Yes?

It's Joseph Hannah, sir.

What is it?

My stomach is bad.

When did this begin?

Yesterday night.

Can you describe the pain?

How does it feel?

It hurts me a good deal.

Climb onto the bunk, and we'll
examine you from there.

It's a very simple,
straightforward procedure.

I just need to examine you

to identify the source of the pain.

My stomach is bad, that's all.

I just need Pepperdine.

I'll decide what it is that you need.

Climb onto the bunk
and lift up your shirt, please.

Does this hurt?

No.

Does this?

No.

So where is the pain?

It's everywhere.

If it's not here or here,
then how can it be everywhere?

It's lower down.

And does it hurt when you shit?

Hm-hmm.

Remove your trousers,
turn onto your side

and hug your knees
to your chest, please.

It sounds like it could be piles.

I'll give you some ointment
and you can be on your way.

- Yes, Mr. Sumner?
- Warm water and a clean rag, urgently.

Clean.

Right away, sir.

- Who did this to you?
- It was no one.

Joseph..

Somebody did this to you.

You're safe in here.

- You can talk free...
- It was no one.

Take this now.

Come back tomorrow

and every day till the end of the week.

You may go now.

Come back tomorrow
for another one of these.

Do not forget.

Thank you.

Captain Brownlee.

Come in.

I'll be with you in a minute.

Twenty years ago,

these waters were full of whales.

Now they've all moved up north.

- Erm, Captain, I...
- Steam. That's the future.

You know, with a powerful enough
steam engine,

we could chase them
to the ends of the earth.

I need to discuss a very
sensitive matter with you.

Joseph Hannah.

He came to see me today
complaining of a foul stomach.

Oh, the cabin boy?

But when I examined him,

I discovered he had been sodomised.

What, did he tell you this himself?

It was evident from the examination.

You sure?

The damage was extensive.

And there were signs
of venereal disease.

Fucking hell.

Who is responsible
for such an abomination?

The boy will not say.

He is frightened.

He may also be
a little bit simple-minded.

Oh, he's stupid enough, that's for sure.

I know his father and his uncle both,

and they're bloody imbeciles.

Are you sure this happened
on board my ship?

Without any doubt.

Cavendish?

- What is it?
- Fetch me Hannah.

What's that little shit done now?

Just bring him to me.

Go on.

Young Joseph,

our Captain would like to
ask you a number of questions.

- Shall I stay?
- Aye.

You know the habits
and personalities of the men

better than I do.

I know the personality
of this little savage.

Joseph. Mr. Sumner tells me
that you've sustained an injury.

Is that true?

I've heard nothing of an injury.

Sumner examined Joseph earlier
this evening and found evidence,

clear evidence,

that he's been ill-used
by another member of the crew.

Ill-used?

Sodomised.

Well...

How did it happen?

Who's responsible?

It was an accident.

It's awful dark in the forecastle.

Is it not possible that the boy
merely slipped one night

and landed on his arse
in an unfortunate fashion?

The idea is ridiculous.

Such injuries as I saw
could only occur in one way.

Strange, then,
that the boy thinks it was.

Probably because he's scared.

Who are you scared of?

- No one.
- Look at me, Joseph.

- Who's done this to you?
- No one, Captain.

I'm a patient fellow,
but my patience has its limits.

If you've been mistreated,

then the man who has mistreated
you will be punished for it.

But you must tell me
the whole truth now.

Joseph.

So who did this to ya?

No one, Captain.

Joseph.

All right, if the boy
won't identify his attacker

then nothing further can be done.

No, we can seek witnesses.

- We are on a whaling ship.
- Yes. Precisely.

Look, Joseph, you may go now.

If I wish to speak to you again,
I'll call for you.

- You can go back to your cabin.
- Yes, Captain.

I'll instruct the men to keep
their quarters tidier in future

to avoid any more such accidents.

I'll move the boy from the fo'c's'le,

and he can bed down in steerage
for a while.

- What if Cavendish is the culprit?
- No.

That would explain the boy's silence.

Look, Cavendish has a good many faults,

but he is not a sodomite.
Not of men at least.

Well, he certainly seemed amused
by the situation.

Look, if the boy won't change his tune

then nothing further can be done.

Whatever particular injuries
he may have,

it's your job, as surgeon,
to treat them.

I trust you have the skills

and necessaries to do so.

- Sorry to disturb.
- No, no.

I'm told a cabin boy was hurt.

Who told you?

Cavendish.

Do you have your suspicions
on the culprit?

I may.

Yeah.

Well, Joseph Hannah
is a well-known liar. I'd...

take what he tells you
with a pinch of salt.

Oh, he hasn't told me anything.

Oh, aye?

That's the problem.

- He won't speak.
- He's feeble-minded.

D'you know the boy?

Not well, no. I know his father,
Fredrick Hannah.

I know his brother, Henry.

What d'you make of them?

Um... I don't make anything, really.

Tell me if this is too tight, Mr. Drax.

No, not at all.

Lovely.

You know, Brownlee has decided
the matter is closed anyway,

and unless the boy changes his mind,

nothing more can be done.

Ah. So that's the end of it?

Probably.

Tell me.

Why did you become a surgeon,
a fellow like yourself?

Uh, because I wished to advance
from my humble origins.

Ah.

Um...

Well, you wished to advance

and yet, here you are
on a Yorkshire whaler.

You're fretting over cabin boys.

I wonder what has happened
to those ambitions.

I must have simplified them.

I believe I've done the same.

Hmm, for the time being, at least.

Oh, aye.

- Hmm.
- Hmm.

- Good man.
- Keep this on for a day or so.

It should heal relatively quickly.

Indeed. Indeed I will.

- Thank you, Mr. Sumner.
- Thank you.

All hands! All hands on deck!

All hands on!

- All hands on deck!
- All hands on deck!

- All hands!
- A fish to!

- All hands!
- All hands on deck!

Move men, move!

Move it along! Come on.

- A fish to!
- Man the boats!

Aye, Captain.

- Man the boats!
- With a will, lads.

Man the boats!

- Aye, Captain.
- Quickly!

We've a fish to hunt.

Mr. Bannon, you and your crew

take the first boat with Mr. Drax!

Aye, and check on the grapnel.

The first boat is ready.

Everybody lynched?

Take as much as you can carry.

The second boat is ready!

Portside, back quarters,
starboard side, make way.

- Mr. Sumner.
- Ah, thank you.

Good, good. Make way.

Make way.

Easy there, lads. Get back.

Hold tight, hold water.

Starboard, make way.

Portside, hold. Starboard, make way!

Heave! Heave! Good, lads.

Hold water, lads. Hold water.

Lay in your oars.

Oars in.

Go on!

All right.

She's nearly there.

Get ready, she's about to rise.

Pull to, lads! Oars in.

Pull to! Pull to!

- Drop the third boat!
- Drop the third boat.

Pull to!

All right, lads. Pull to, pull to!

That's it, lads.

So, what's next?

We kill it.

Easy. Easy.

That's the line.

- Slowly.
- Make ready now.

Easy, easy, easy.

Wood and black skin.

Give me one last groan, my darling.

One last shudder
to help me find your heart.

That's it, my sweet.

One more inch and then it is done.

Let her go.

Make fast the nose tackle.

You three, attend to the baleen.

No, no, no. Other way.

Away, away, away.

Another piece ready.

This beast should wield up
to ten tons of oil

and half a ton of whalebone,

a value close to 900 pounds,
should profit hold at market.

Enough to keep you in whores, Jones.

Ah, but this is just the start.

I want these holds filled.

I want them overflowing with blubber.

I wanna be unable to work on this deck

for all the whalebone. All right?

- Aye, Captain.
- Good job, lads.

- Good kill.
- Raise her up.

Up! Up, up, up, up, up, up, up!

- Away with the tail.
- In.

In. Down.

Down!

Down all the way.

That's it. Let her go,
let her go, let her go.

That'll do, lads, step away.

By Christmas, the bones
of this gruesome stinker

will be nestling in the
delicately perfumed corsets

of some as yet unscrewed lovely,

dancing the Gay Gordons
in a ballroom on the Strand.

That's thought enough to make your head

fairly spin, is it not, Mr. Sumner?

That behind every piece of
sweet-smelling female loveliness

is a world of stench and doggery.

I'd quite like to help.

I'm fairly decent
with a blade after all.

- Captain?
- Aye?

Our doctor

thinks he'll be decent
with a flensing blade.

Bring him on then.

Fetch him some togs.

Here's your chance, lad.

As this is our surgeon's
first flense, three cheers.

- Hey!
- Hey!

- Hey!
- Hey!

- Hey!
- Hey!

Two more buckets.

Fraser, bring that bucket to us.

I can't cut through it.

Maybe we'll make
a whaling man of you yet.

Is that so?

Some surgeons

would be too dainty for the pick-haak,

but you took to it nicely, I'd say.

Well, I found the flensing to be
a good deal like cutting turf,

which I did my fair share of as a boy.

That's it then, it's in your blood.

Whaling is?

No, not the whaling, the working.

An Irishman is a labourer at heart.

That is his calling.

You may not sound like an Irishman

but one you'll always be.

And what is an Englishman's
true calling then, I wonder.

To grow fat off the labours of others?

There are them that are born to toil,

and them that are born to grow rich.

And which are you?

Oh, I'd say my time is coming.
I'd say it's coming pretty soon.

Go on, lads.

All the barrels up!

We need more shakes from the hold.

What the hell is all of this, Otto?

- It's barrel water.
- Sorry?

Barrel water, son.

Brownlee ordered
to break out the main hold,

prepare for the next of the whales.

Has there been any more
sightings at all, or...

I think we scared them north.

We should re-find them again
once we reach Melville Bay,

if the ice is not too thick.

Oh, bless ya.

That's it, get it over.

Cooper, it's cracked.

It's not rotten.
You're gonna have to open it up.

Checking all digits.

Flesh beneath the second digit
on right hand

would indicate a struggle.

Upper right arm intact.

Checking neck and throat.

He's been strangled.

Fucking outrage.

This is an appalling thing.

In my long years at sea,

I've never heard of a murder
on a whaler.

Not outright murder
and not of a cabin boy.

How in God's name is it

that no one here noticed anything?

Too good for him, if you ask me.

That's enough!

Where's the sailmaker?

Aye.

Stitch him in his shroud,
and we'll bury him betimes.

The rest of you men,
get back to your duties.

Aye, Captain.

He's missing a tooth, Captain.

- So?
- It is only recently missing, look.

What kind of a crew has

this bastard Baxter afflicted me with?

And the Lord spake unto thee.

Our Father...

Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those
who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,
the power and the glory.

Forever and ever. Amen. Amen.

- Back to work.
- Aye, Captain.

And what would your Master
Swedenborg say on such atrocities?

We drifted away from the Lord.

Because the Lord allowed us to.

Don't get it jumbled up, Dr. Sumner.

The confusion and stupidity,
it's all ours.

You see, we...

we build a great bonfire
to warm ourselves,

and then we complain
the flames are too hot,

and we're blinded by smoke.

But to kill a young boy?

Now what sense can be made of that?

The most important questions

are the ones we cannot hope
to answer with words.

You see, the words are like toys.

They amuse us and educate us for a time,

but when it comes to manhood...

we should give them up.

Words are all that we have.

If we give them up,
then we are no more than beasts.

If that is what you truly think,
Dr. Sumner,

then you must find
an explanation on your own.

I would rather not think.

It would be pleasanter and easier.

But it seems I cannot help myself.

You better fucking pray

there's enough ice up there, Mr. Baxter.

Another island! Ice ahead!

Yeah?

I've been squeezing and
grinding the bastards,

and they've given up a name.

- Who?
- McKendrick.

Samuel McKendrick, the carpenter?

And this last season,

when he was shipped
aboard the John O'Gaunt,

it is well known
he was sharing his berth

with a boat steerer.
A man, name of Nesbit.

What, in plain sight?

It's dark in the fo'c's'le,
as you know, Captain,

but let's just say noises
were heard at night.

Noises of a certain
unmistakable kind, I mean.

Bring me McKendrick.

Cavendish.

This mustn't interfere
with what needs to be done.

With what you and I
are on this vessel to do.

Fucking idiot.

How well did you know Joseph Hannah?

I doesn't know him hardly at all.

Well, you must have seen him
in the fo'c's'le.

I seen him, yeah, but I don't know him.

He's just a cabin boy.

Are you not fond of cabin boys?

Not especially.

Are you married, McKendrick?

Do you have a wife waiting for you?

No, I ain't and I don't.

Not fond of women, is that it?

No, it isn't that.

It's just that I haven't found a
woman quite suitable for me yet.

Fucking...

I've heard it said that
you prefer the company of men.

Is that true?

No... It's not true.

I'm as red blooded as the next man over.

Joseph Hannah was sodomised
before he was killed.

I suppose you know that already.

Yeah, some of the fellows at the
fo'c's'le are saying that, sir, yes.

Did you kill him?

- Did you kill the cabin boy?
- No. That's not me, sir.

But I have half a dozen men
who will testify

to his well-known reputation
as a buggerer of young boys.

If you're found lying,

it will not go well for you,
I promise you that.

It hasn't ever been about boys.

Boys are not to my taste.

You expect us to believe
you are so very particular

about whose arse you'd lay siege to?

From what I hear, after a pint
or two of whiskey,

you'd fuck your own granddad.

It isn't about laying siege to anything.

You're a disgusting disgrace,

and whether you're a murderer or not,

- I should have you whipped.
- I ain't a murderer.

Yeah, well, you're a fucking liar.

We've proved that.

And if you lie about one thing,

what's to say you won't lie
about anything else?

But I ain't a murderer.

If you allow me to examine him
in my cabin briefly, Mr. Brownlee,

there may be indications.

Young Joseph Hannah had a slew of sores

and if they are venereal,
as I think they were,

it's likely the perpetrator
would have the very same sores.

- Take your clothes off.
- I'd much prefer to use my...

No, do it now
or else we'll do it for you.

Could you pull back your
foreskin, please, Mr. McKendrick?

No visible signs of infection...

or lesions.

No signs of soreness or abrasion either.

Perhaps he used a gob of lard
to ease his entrance.

Perchance, did you check Hannah
for signs of lubrication?

Shut up, Cavendish,
and let Sumner do his job.

No fresh cuts or scratches on the wrist.

No, no fresh cuts or scratches

as might be caused by a struggle.

You may put your clothes back on
now, Mr. McKendrick.

No, you can get dressed outside.

There's your murderer right there.

Whether his cock is chaffed or
not, he's the guilty one, I tell you.

There's no proof, none at all.

Surely even you,
Mr. Cavendish, are aware

that you need proof
before you can condemn a man?

- You should be careful, Mr. Sumner.
- And why is that?

I know more about you
than you might like to think.

Go on ahead. I have very little to hide.

Look, quiet, both of you.

Sumner is right.

We need proof.

What proof do you need?
He's a known sodomite.

Put him in irons for now
and tell the rest of the crew

that I wish to speak to anyone
who saw him talking to Hannah

or paying the boy
any kind of attentions.

If he's guilty, there will be a witness.

You can leave now, Mr. Sumner.

Thank you, Captain.

There's some things about our surgeon

that you don't know, Captain.

I don't wanna hear about Sumner.

Just find the proof and we can move on.

Once we're through the strait,

I'll meet up with Captain Morwood,

and we'll head north to Lancaster Sound.

Aye, Captain.

You can see him in
the dockyard taprooms every night,

buying arse and giggling
with the other pansies.

That doesn't make him a murderer.

Course it's him.

Brownlee just needs a little more proof.

What kind of proof?

A witness, someone who's seen
the two of them together.

I'd seen them together.

When?

I seen them by the deckhouse
late one night.

He was mooning over the boy,
he was cooing and billing,

he was paddling his neck.

He was trying to give him little kisses.

The boy didn't seem to like it
too much neither.

That should do it.

Why didn't you mention this before?

It must have slipped my mind.

My wits aren't quite so strongly
trained as yours are, Mr. Sumner,

and, erm... I'm the forgetful type, see.

He had him pushed up against the wall,

he was stroking his hair.

Then I saw him give him a kiss.
That's what I saw, Captain.

Why didn't you bring me
this useful information before?

Well, I didn't think of it.

Once I heard his name mentioned
as the murderer,

then it all came back.

That is a bloody lie.
I never once touched that boy.

Well, I saw what I saw.

There's no man can tell me I didn't.

And you'll swear to this
in a court of law?

On the Holy Bible. Yes, I will.

Right then, I'll enter
your account into the ship's log

and you can stamp your mark on it.

Now, is there anything that you
wish to add, Mr. McKendrick?

There's not a word of truth in it,

that's what I'd like to say.

He's spewing out lies.

Oh, I have no reason to lie.

Look, if you've an accusation to make

then you should make it now.

I never touched that boy.

Like I said to you before,
boys ain't to my taste,

but whatsoever I did with my fellow men

I never had any complaint
or accusation concerning that

but this man here, the one
who is lying about me,

who seems set to see me
hanged by the neck,

he's done far worse,

much more unnatural crimes
than I have done.

What crimes do you speak of?

Ask him.

Ask him what he done in the Marquesas.

What's he talking about?

I have passed some time with the
South Sea negroes, that's all.

I have some tattoos
they gave me on my back

and a fund of good and
profitable stories to show for it.

There's nothing more to tell.

Would you take the word
of a damn cannibal

over that of an honest God-fearing man?

A cannibal!

Don't pay heed to his bollocks. Jesus!

I've never heard
such desperate nonsense.

Take that shameless piece of shite down.

- I ain't no murderer!
- For why?

Before I lose my fucking temper.

No, please, I'm not a fucking murderer!

- Please!
- Get down there.

Right, you'll be expected
to testify in court.

I don't like being accused
or talked at in that way.

The word of a lone sodomite

should carry no great weight,
I can assure you of that.

You must stand your ground, that's all.

I'm an honest man.

I tell only what I saw.

Then you've nothing to fear.

You can go now, Mr. Sumner.

You've caused enough trouble.

Hello?

Come to me now, boy. I won't wait.

- No, Drax, no.
- Please, no. No!