All language subtitles for Gangs.of.New.York.2002.REMASTERED.108

No, son. Never.

The blood stays on the blade.

One day you'll understand.

Some of it I half remember.

And the rest...

The rest I took from dreams.

St. Michael, the archangel,
defend us in battle.

Be our protector against the snares...

and the wickedness of the devil.

Now, son, who's that?

- St. Michael.
- Who is it?

- St. Michael!
- And what did he do?

He cast Satan out of paradise.

Good boy.

May God put the steel of the
Holy Spirit in your spine...

and the love of the Blessed
Virgin in your heart.

- Hey, boyo!
- Johnny.

- What's the battle?
- Natives against the 'Dead Rabbits'.

- Which are you?
- What do you think? 'Dead Rabbits'.

Well, well, Monk.

Are you with us or not?

For the last time, Vallon,
I'm with you if the money is right.

I'll give you 10 per notch.

- Ten?
- You have my word.

- Ten per notch?
- Per new notch.

Then I'm your man.

Is this it, Priest?
The pope's new army?

A few crusty bitches
and a handful of ragtags?

Now, now, Bill, you swore this was
a battle between warriors...

not a bunch of Miss Nancys.

So warriors is what I brought.

The 'O'Connell Guard'.

The 'Plug Uglies'.

The 'Shirt Tails'.

The 'Chichesters'.

The 'Forty Thieves'.

On my challenge...

by the ancient laws of combat, we
have met at this chosen ground...

to settle, for good and all...

who holds sway over the Five Points:

Us Natives, born right-wise
to this fine land...

or the foreign hordes defiling it.

By the ancient laws of combat, I accept
the challenge of the so-called Natives.

You plague our people at every turn.

But from this day out,
you shall plague us no more.

For let it be known that the hand that
tries to strike us from this land...

shall be swiftly cut down.

Then may the Christian Lord
guide my hand...

against your Roman popery!

Prepare to receive the true Lord!

Priest!

Look to me.

Who is this under my knife?

Father, get up. Get up!

Where are you? Where are you?

Oh, my son.

Don't never look away.

Soon be over, Priest.

Finish it.

You may need this across the river.

Ears and noses will be
the trophies of the day.

But no hand shall touch him!

No hand shall touch him!

He'll cross over whole...

in honor.

Not before I get what's owed.

No!

It's fair. A touch indelicate,
but fair.

My sympathies.

What will we do with the boy?

Look at me.

Give him to the law.

See he gets a good education.

Okay, boy, say goodbye to your father.

- Get him!
- Get him!

Don't let him get away.

Hurry, come in here!

He's going downstairs.

Come here, boy.

- You're going to Hellgate, son.
- There he is. Get him.

- Priest Vallon died a noble death...
- Let go of me!

...but his 'Dead Rabbits'
is done and outlawed!

Let no one even speak their name
from this time on.

In this place, you have grown
from a boy into a man.

Put to death the earthly things
in you: Immorality, impurity...

passion, vengeance.

The Lord has forgiven you.

You also must forgive.

You go forth to a country torn
apart by civil strife.

Thank you, Reverend.

Lend your hand to the work
that yet remains...

that this war may end...

and the plague of slavery that
brought this conflagration...

down upon us vanish forever
from the earth.

In the second year of the Civil War...

when the Irish Brigade
marched in the streets...

New York was a city full of tribes...

war chiefs, rich and poor.

- Down with Lincoln!
- Lincoln will make all white men slaves.

It wasn't a city really.

It was more a furnace where a city
someday might be forged.

That's the spirit, boys.

- Go off and die for your blackie friends.
- Down with the abolitionists!

We should've run a better man against
Lincoln when we had the chance.

New York should secede
from the Union!

They trying to say we're
no different than niggers?

You ain't. Good evening, brother.

- Praise the Union.
- The Union forever!

Go back to Africa, nigger!

- Go back to Africa!
- Leave him alone. We're free.

The angriest talk was of the
new Conscription Act...

the first draft in Union history.

Join the Army, lads. Three square meals
a day and good pay in your pocket.

When the Irish came,
the city was in a fever.

Since the time of the great famine,
they'd come streaming off the boats.

And they got a right warm welcome.

- Go back to Ireland, you dumb micks!
- Remember that, you Irish gyps!

Get back on the boat, Paddy!

I only came two hours downriver
from Hellgate.

But they all took me for an immigrant.

Why not? There were a 1,000
different accents in New York.

And to the Natives, you see,
we was all the same.

Welcome to America, son.
Your long, arduous journey is over.

- Go back to your own country!
- Vote Tammany!

New York loved William Tweed
and hated him.

And those of us trying to be thieves,
well, we couldn't help but admire him.

Mr. Cutting, gentlemen,
thank you for coming. It's an honor.

Mr. Tweed.

Sir, please. Excuse me.

- I think you're frightening them.
- So?

Don't mind him.
He used to be an Irishman.

Ah, the Five Points.

Murderers ' Alley. Brickbat Mansion.
The Gates of Hell.

Here in this vile place.
Look upon the face of this poor child.

She lives in squalor...

in this god-forsaken den
of vice and misery behind me.

Every year the reformers came.

Every year the Points got worse...

as if it liked being dirty.

- Where am I going to go?
- The Reverend wants you out of here.

You can't do this!

A glorious resurrection will spring
from the filthy depths...

to which these miserable creatures
have fallen.

In God, they will find their true home.

You may or may not know, Bill,
that every day I go to the waterfront...

with hot soup for the Irish
as they come ashore.

It's part of building a political base.

I've noticed you there.
You may have noticed me.

Indeed I have. Throwing torrents
of pavers and withering abuse...

- on everyone stepping off those boats.
- If only I had the guns...

I'd shoot each and every one of them
before they set foot on American soil.

Mulberry Street...

and Worth.

Cross and Orange and Little Water.

Each of the Five Points is a finger.

When I close my hand,
it becomes a fist.

And any time that I wish,
I can turn it against you.

I know, but we're talking
about different things.

I'm talking about civic duty,
responsibilities we owe to the people.

Schools and hospitals,
sewers and utilities.

Street construction,
repairs and sweeping.

Business licenses, saloon licenses...

St. Michael, the archangel,
defend us in battle.

Be our protector against the snares
and the wickedness of the devil.

Street cars, ferries, rubbish disposal.

There's a power of money
to be made in this city, Bill.

With your help, the people
must be made to understand...

that all these things are best kept
within the Tammany family...

which is why I'm proposing
an alliance...

between our two great organizations.

- You're talking about muscle work.
- That too. Muscle to match our spirit.

You own the crushers.
Get them to do it.

The police? Oh, no. Jesus, no!

The appearance of the law
must be upheld...

especially while it's being broken.

Give me the strength
for what I must do.

Who are you?

- Hey!
- No!

I said, who are you?
What are you doing here?

I just like it down here is all.

See what's in his pockets, Jimmy.

- Look, boys, I really don't want a fight.
- Don't want a fight?

Don't worry, son,
ain't gonna be much a fight.

Don't kill me.

Where'd you get that?

I told you I didn't want a fight!

Why not? Look how good you done.

- You're the Priest's son, aren't you?
- You, get away from me, understand?

You don't remember me, do you?
I's the one tried to help you.

- What?
- I's the one tried to help ye...

when the Natives took you.

- Oh, that was you?
- Yeah. I thought you was killed.

They just locked me up,
you know that?

This long?

Well, I kept trying to escape, you know.
They add on time for that.

So, what are you doing back here?

I guess I missed the place.

Bowery Boys.

Get back here!

The Five Points, Paradise Square.

The streets here are always lively
of an evening.

Who are the gangs around now?

The 'Daybreak Boys'
and the 'Swamp Angels'.

They work the river, looting ships.

The 'Frog Hollows' shanghai sailors
by the Bloody Angle.

The 'Shirt Tails' was rough, but
they've become a bunch of dandies...

loggin' around Murderers' Alley,
looking like Chinamen.

Hell-Cat Maggie, she tried to open
her own grog shop.

She drunk her own liquor
and got throwed on the street.

- Beautiful.
- Now she's on the lay for anything.

The 'Plug Uglies' are from deep
in the old country.

Got their own language
no one understands.

They love to fight the cops.
The 'Night Walkers' of Ragpicker's Row.

They work on their backs
and kill with their hands.

They're so scurvy only the 'Plug Uglies'
talk to them. But who understands them?

The 'Slaughter Housers'
and the 'Broadway Twisters'.

They're a fine bunch of bingo boys.
And the Little 'Forty Thieves'.

I used to run with them...

till they got took over
by Bendrick the Cockroach.

Bendrick carries a germ.

If you try to leave the gang,
he hacks up blood on you.

The 'Lime-Juicers' are nothing but
a bunch of rapacious grab-ups.

The 'True Blue Americans'
say they're a gang...

but all they do is stand on corners
damning England.

If you believe one word
the British say, you're a fool.

Do any of them got the sand
of the 'Dead Rabbits'?

You don't say that name.

That name died with your...
They been outlawed.

In the blockhouse,
the Chinks told me...

that the Natives celebrate their victory
every year. Is that true?

Aye, that they do.
It's quite the affair.

The Butcher himself's got to invite you,
or you don't go.

Look where you're going, Johnny.

You look stunned and poorly, sir.

Quite a pair of conversationists,
aren't you?

Maybe not, but we're deep thinkers.

Well, gentlemen, I leave you
in the grace and favor of the Lord.

Jenny, the finest bludget
in all the Points.

She is a prim-looking stargazer.

But I'd check my pockets
if I was you...

because I do believe she lifted
your timepiece.

Well, I let her take it.

I let her take things all the time.

- Is that right?
- Yeah.

We always liked a good fire
in the Points.

You could pick up a little swag. And
if the cops came, you really got a show.

The Municipal Police fought
the Metropolitan Police.

The Metropolitan Police,
they fought the street gangs.

Hurry up, men,
before the Black Joke get there!

There were 37 amateur fire brigades,
and they all fought each other.

The Black Joke are on their way, Tweed,
and they'll beat the shite out of you.

Okay, boys, get the hose out!

It's the Black Joke!

Go get them, boys!

Give those Bowery Boys hell!

- Quick, before there's nothing left.
- Go back to the Bowery, you bums!

Stop them. For God's sake,
they're taking everything!

In your next time of trouble,
call on Tammany first.

But it's not too late.
You can still save my house.

Let's go.

I thought you said you was hungry.

Grab what you can, Johnny.
Let's get out of here.

May I point out that this building
is burning to ashes?

May I point out this area is the province
of my own Americus fire Brigade...

and that you lot belong
only in the Bowery?

May I point out that you're
outmanned, outmaneuvered...

and, in a moment, outfought?

Am I?

There's the Black Joke!
Let's take them on the cobbles.

Go spill some claret, boys.
Go on, Shorty, have a nice muss.

Clear the way for Bill the Butcher.

Okay, boys, to work.

What's the point? The fire's near burned
anything of value inside.

Boys, forget that one.
Next building over.

Mustn't let it spread.
Take what you want from that one.

What are you doing?

There's nothing wrong with this one.
This is my house.

- Johnny!
- Help!

- Johnny!
- Help!

Help! Help!

Help!

Come on. Come on, Johnny, get up.

Leave that!

You two, out of the way!

His name's Amsterdam.

- How's the beak?
- Ain't so bad.

You. You got anything,
you give it up or you get out.

Is that it?

That's it.

Right. Here's the rake.
Everything comes here. We fence it.

Johnny takes our tribute to the Natives,
and we chop up the winnings...

each to his equal portion,
amongst the gang.

Does that meet
with your approval, Hellgate?

My approval?

What's the matter, Jack Sprat?
Can't think for yourself?

- I'll slit your fucking throat!
- Hey, come on!

Hey!

You boys will settle with me
before settling with each other.

I come for my due and proper.

Well, this ain't a bad haul.

When folks start in to saying to where
the country is going to hell...

I always tell them,
"You just look at all the hard work...

our fine young lads is doing
down in the Five Points."

Oh, yeah. Now this is just
the thing for Mrs. Mulraney.

All right there, Happy Jack,
leave us something...

to quarter to Bill the Butcher, eh?

Would you?

Not my favorite tune.

Thank you, boys.

You keep out of trouble now.

Every year the Natives celebrated
the killing of my father all over again...

at Sparrow's Chinese Pagoda
in Mott Street.

The Chinks hated the Natives
worse than we did.

The drum rolls, and the Butcher
drinks a glass of fire.

When you kill a king...

you don't stab him in the dark.

You kill him where the whole court
can watch him die.

Hey, you got any timber?

- Hey, Maggie. Right ear or left ear?
- Give us a drink, you idiot.

Help yourself.

- Final bets!
- To health.

Place your bets.
Betting closes in two minutes.

Place your bets.

Gentlemen, the match
is due to commence.

The count to beat is 25 rodents
in three minutes.

Towser against the vermin.

- Are the enumerators satisfied?
- Fifty!

- Yes!
- Let them go!

- Where you going, boy?
- I'm here to pay tribute to Bill.

Are you now? Give it to me.
I'll give it to him.

No, thanks. I'll give it to him myself.

What do you want to keep,
the money or your teeth?

John.

Welcome.

From me and me lads, sir.

Mate of yours? Where's he from?

Oh, he's not from here, sir.

You.

That's close enough.

Your friend can't look me in the eye.
That's not an admirable characteristic.

No one can look you in the eye, Bill.
Not when you're playing cards.

This is whist. It's a gentleman's game.
Make a gentleman's bet.

- I'm betting large, Bill.
- That ain't large.

Please, don't make that noise again,
Harvey.

I like a man who's willing
to burn for his swag.

How do you fare on water?
Come closer.

Close, John.
I ain't gonna bite. Close.

There's a Portuguese ship lying low
in the harbor, quarantined three weeks.

Get there before
the 'Daybreak Boys' strip her...

maybe you and me will talk more.

- Consider it done, sir.
- Good boy.

And you, whatever your name is...
What is your name?

- Amsterdam, sir.
- Amsterdam. I'm New York.

Don't you never come in here
empty-handed again.

You gotta pay for the pleasure
of my company.

Take him for a boat ride, John.

Who knows, but he might
save your life again.

The 'Daybreak Boys' catch us,
they'll slit our throats.

I'll do it myself in a minute
if you don't keep quiet.

I never liked the harbor after dark.

And now each night they brung ashore
the bodies of the soldiers.

Many mothers have not
even the solace...

of knowing where
their sons have fallen.

I lost my own eldest at Antietam.

His mother and I were unable
to recover his remains.

- It was a mournful sight.
- The war can't last forever.

But we had business of our own.

The 'Daybreak Boys' have been here,
and there's nothing left. Let's go back.

What the hell?

Jimmy, get down!

Jesus, that'll bring the harbor cops
for sure. Fuck off.

Let's take a look.

Jesus, they killed everybody.

There's nothing here but a bunch
of dead sea-crabs.

Come on, let's go.

- Shove off.
- No, wait for Amsterdam.

Where's Amsterdam?

- No, you damn fool, take him!
- What in the hell for?!

Look in my glims.
I said no less than 15.

- Is this fresh?
- Four hours most.

Much obliged, gents.

What's that word?

- It means body snatchers.
- I didn't ask the meaning.

I asked the word.

Ghoul.

Ghoul? That's a good word.

"Ghoul Gang Slaughters.
A fresh Outrage in the Five Points."

- That's a notice you can be proud of.
- Thank you.

A low thing, to do that to a body.
Low.

Why? They could have left
that ship with nothing.

Instead they made The Police Gazette,
a periodical of note.

A body's supposed to stay
beneath the earth...

wearing a wooden coat
until the Resurrection.

These two are a pair of sons
of Irish bitches, same as you.

It don't seem to bother them none.

But then maybe they don't share
your religious scruples.

Maybe they're just a couple
of 'Fidlam Bens'.

I've been called a lot of things, mister,
but I ain't never been called...

- Fidlam Bens.
- Fidlam Bens. Right.

Well, if I knew what in the hell that
meant, I'd be inclined to take offense.

A 'Fidlam Bens' is a fellow
who steals anything, dead or alive...

because he's too low to work up
a decent lay for himself.

Count that careful, Bill.
Count that careful.

- I'm telling you, that's all there is...
- Now, chiseler...

If you'd said "chiseler", now there's
a word I understand. You know?

- Now, is that what you're calling us?
- I can think of many things to call you.

Right. But I asked
if you was calling us chiselers.

Supposing I am?

Well, then we got business.

That we do.

- A fight! There's a fight!
- Two bucks on McGloin.

- Four bits on the kid.
- Five bits on the kid.

I got two on Amsterdam.

Come on, McGloin, he's just a kid.

Four bits to back Amsterdam.

Watch his left, McGloin. Watch his left.

- All right, that'll do. That'll do.
- Anything to say now, huh?!

That'll do, for chrissake.
Drag him off.

- That's enough, kid.
- You got him. Come on, kid, you won.

McGloin. He's a kid too, McGloin.

You're getting too old for it, McGloin.

McGloin, how would that head look
without the ears and the nose on it?

You'd better leave
that head alone, Bill.

I think I'm gonna trim the ears
and the beak off of that head.

Make a nice pot of soup of that head.

You could find a tastier head
than that, Bill.

I ain't got the stomach for no Irish stew.

The mighty McGloin
almost fish-hooked by a sprat.

On the seventh day, the Lord rested,
but before that he did...

he squatted over the side of England,
and what came out of him was Ireland.

- No offense, son.
- Oh, none taken, sir. I grew up here.

All I ever knew of Ireland was in the
talk of the others at the orphan asylum.

In which part of that excrementitious
isle were your forebears spawned?

I've been told Kerry, but I lost proof
of it in my language at the asylum.

I was raised in a very similar
establishment myself.

Now everything you see belongs to me,
to one degree or another.

The beggars and newsboys
and quick thieves here in Paradise.

The sailor dives and gin mills
and blind tigers on the waterfront.

The anglers and amusers,
the she-hes and the Chinks.

Everybody owes, everybody pays...

because that's how you stand up
against the rising of the tide.

- Is that right, boys?
- Yeah, Bill. That's right.

Enlist. Join up. Serve your country.

Come on in out of the draft, boys.

Volunteer and get your $50 bonus.

We need 30,000 volunteers, and we're
prepared to pay $677 per volunteer.

- Please read this. Thank you.
- Thanks.

Would you like to take
one of these to fill out?

Three square meals a day.
Three square meals a day.

Young man, enlist
and serve your country.

Three square meals a day, gentlemen.

If you're interested,
read this and consider joining.

Everywhere you went
people talked about the draft.

Now, you could buy
your way out for $300...

but who had $300?

For us it might as well
have been 3 million.

The recruiters? They was too scared
of the gangs to come after us.

Besides, we never dreamt the war
would ever touch New York.

Good morning, sir.

You!

Don't you run into me.

Fair enough.

I said, don't run into me!

Well, sorry.

- Everything in place?
- It seems so.

Well, then I leave you
in the grace and favor of the Lord.

- Thank you.
- That's right.

Oh, the dirty mab!

Oh, no.

- I'm sorry.
- Allow me.

- Thank you kindly, sir.
- Oh, it's my pleasure.

I hope you won't think
me rude if I speak.

I wouldn't want to appear forward.

Well, sir, that depends
on what you say.

Would you call me reckless if I said
you were the prettiest girl in New York?

Only New York?

This is my stop.

May I walk with you a little then?

That, sir, would be too bold.

Good morning.

For every lay we had a different name.

An "angler" put a hook
on the end of a stick...

to drop behind
store windows and doors.

An "autumn diver"
picked your pocket in church.

A "badger" gets a fellow
into bed with a girl...

then robs his pockets
while they're on the go.

Jenny was a "bludget",
a girl pickpocket...

and a "turtledove".

A turtledove goes uptown
dressed like a housemaid...

picks out a fine house
and goes right through the back door.

Robs you blind.

It takes a lot of sand
to be a turtledove.

I'll have my medal back. Oh, Jesus!

Don't do that again.

Listen! I said, don't do that...

Go back to the Points
and leave me to my business...

or I will open your throat,
so help me God.

All right.

Go on then.

I would.

Go on then.

Now give me back my medal.

Make it quick!

I don't know which one's yours.

Suppose I help myself to everything?

Suppose you do.

May I walk with you a little then?

What do you suppose a fellow
could earn here in a day?

- Maybe we could pal in together.
- Oh, I think you're a bit...

rough for this sort of game.
Besides, I work alone.

Alone? Well, what do you quarter
to the Butcher?

- Me? Nothing.
- Nothing?

The Butcher and me
have a special arrangement.

- I don't want to see you again.
- Well, I don't blame you.

Pennies in their pockets
and hope in their eyes...

they peer to the west...

searching the horizon
for a glimpse of land and salvation.

A glimpse of America.

Seeing all this poverty must be
most unsettling, Miss Schermerhorn.

Some days, of course,
the uptown gangs come down to us.

The Schermerhorns was one
of the oldest families in New York.

They didn't run the city...

but they was listened
to carefully by them that did.

Commissioner Brunt
said you wished to view...

the Points in all
its splendor and squalor.

"Spare nothing concerning
the conditions", said he.

Yeah, nothing except
our safety, constable.

I'm sure we can be in no danger
while we're in the constable's company.

Quite so, madam. Witness.

- Shall we continue on?
- What, you dare to leave it there?

Safe as a bank, Mr. Greeley,
since all know it's mine.

- Is that man drunk?
- Dead as Good Friday, miss.

- Good day to you, Mulraney.
- Boys.

- Jack.
- Slum sociable?

Fact-finding. Reforms-studying.

- May I present ...?
- The Schermerhorns of 5th Avenue...

scarcely require
an introduction from you.

Schermerhorn, indeed. Their daughter.
This gentleman, of course...

Horace Greeley, the famous publisher.
A pleasure and an honor.

- Of the Tribune.
- I'm William Cutting.

How do you do, Mr. Cutting?

As of this moment, extremely well,
thank you. How do you do?

Orange blossom. Delicious.

- Mr. Cutting is...
- What a peach.

She could have a fine career
on the stage.

- ...one of Five Points' local...
- A pleasure to meet you.

- ...leaders.
- Mr. Greeley.

- Pleased to meet you.
- The Points welcomes you.

You are welcome to these streets
and will pass in safety.

Oh, I'll see to their safety.
Thank you, Bill. There we are.

Good day, lads.
Criminal's braggadocio, you see.

- He knows who I am.
- You're well-known in these parts.

I must say that I find
that strangely flattering.

- I never did like crushers.
- Well, draw it mild, son.

Happy Jack don't fill his lungs
without I tell him he may do so.

Do you think my watch
would be safe up on that lamppost, Bill?

Why don't you hang it up there and see?

Someday.

Someday is right.

This a new lad?

Just another bastard son of Erin
I folded in the warmth of my embrace.

- Hey!
- I just want to see your face, son.

No harm intended.

You get to know a lot butchering meat.

We're made up of the same things:
Flesh and blood...

tissue, organs.

I love to work with pigs.

The nearest thing in nature to the flesh
of a man is the flesh of a pig.

- Pig, huh?
- That's right.

This is for you, mother.

There you go.

- God bless you, Mr. Cutting.
- God bless you.

- She ain't really my mother.
- I knew that, Bill.

This is the liver.

The kidneys.

The heart.

This is a wound.
The stomach will bleed and bleed.

This is a kill. This is a kill.

The main artery. This is a kill.

You try.

Go ahead.

The lung. Good.
Don't foul the blade on the rib.

Very good. Main artery.

Bleed him slow.
Let him think about it for a while.

Slow death. Good.

You'll each bill the city $5,000
a month for supplies and services...

of which you'll receive 10%.

Bill! Mr. Killoran will work out
the details. Thank you, gentlemen.

That's how we do things
around Tammany, gentlemen.

Who's this then?

Thank you, boys.

Good day, sir.

You got something on your mind?

Bill's taken quite a liking to you.

Now, if you're up to something, Bene.

Only I don't want no part in it.

I was in Hellgate for 16 years.

I'm just trying to make my way is all.

Just like you.

Unless, of course,
you got a better notion?

No.

Bill, I can't get a day's work done
for all the good citizens...

coming in here to harass me
about crime in the Points.

Some even go so far
as to accuse Tammany...

of connivance in this so-called
rampant criminality.

What am I to do? I can't have this.
Something has to be done.

- What do you have in mind?
- I don't know.

I think maybe we should
hang someone.

- Who?
- No one important, necessarily.

Average men will do.
Back-alley amusers with no affiliations.

- How many?
- Three or four.

- Which?
- Four.

You stand here convicted varyingly...

of lewdness, jack-rolling...

sneak-thievery,
chloral-hydrating...

sodomy, strangulation...

and enthusiastic corruption
of the public good.

- We all go someday, huh?
- Chin up.

Handsome bunch of gallows fruit.
There's my old friend.

- How are you feeling, Arthur?
- I'm okay. I'm okay.

Say hello to Amsterdam. Nearly
fish-hooked McGloin the other day.

- How do you do?
- Nearly.

See you dressed for the occasion.

You know me,
always like to look me best.

That's the spirit.

Nice locket.
I'll give you a dollar for it.

It's me mother's.

Dollar and a half?

Done.

We'll miss you, Arthur.

- See you in the hot country, Seamus.
- Hot corn!

Ears of early white corn!
Hot corn!

Is my son present here?

Where's my little fella?

Look at your dad.

Farewell, dear boy.

I never struck a foul blow,
nor turned a card.

May God greet me as a friend.

♪ And grace my fears relieved ♪

♪ How precious
Did that grace appear ♪

That night,
the reformers held a dance.

That was the Five Points, all right.

Hangings of a morning,
dancings of an evening.

Sure meself, but...

it's not a matter of words.
I can tell by the way she smiles at me.

- She smiles at a lot of people.
- Sir.

You don't know her.

A penny of gratitude
for a fighting Irishman, young sir.

- You from Kerry?
- I am, sir. I am.

- It ain't much.
- Thank you, sir. Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen,
we are delighted to see...

so many young faces
at our first annual Mission dance.

This'll be a real ballum rancum, eh?

The Mission welcomes Christians
of every stamp...

and we are particularly happy
to greet our Roman Catholic friends...

who join us here tonight.

- Ladies! Come with me. Come with me.
- Shall we dance?

We're going to start the dancing
in just a moment.

No.

- Good evening, Reverend.
- Good evening, Your Holiness.

Good evening, Reverend.

Looks as though
you should have shaved closer.

Good evening, Reverend.
I do beg your pardon.

Miss ...?

- Everdeane.
- Miss Everdeane.

Now, gentlemen, over here,
if you don't mind. Thank you.

Open it. Hold it up.

Into the mirror.

That one.

Our queen has chosen.

Sir...

- your lady.
- Right.

Regular services are held
at the church at 6 and 8.

Go to hell.

- What do you think you're doing?
- Dancing.

- I said, why'd you pick me?
- That's none of your business.

Would you mind telling me?

I'm sorry.

Goddamn it!

I'm sorry.
I'm not much of a dancer.

Just try to keep calm.

- I never been to a stepping-ken before.
- It's best not to look down.

You can hold me tighter if you like.

- All right?
- Aye.

So why didn't you dance with Johnny?

Because...

I didn't want him.

I'm not wanting this.

- Wait.
- What?

Wait.

How does this open?

It takes too long to lace back up.
We'll be here all night.

Sure, all right, I'll take it off.

There was a baby.
They cut it out.

I'm sorry.

Oh, it's fine.

Have you got any scars?

One or two.

What's that, then?

That?

It's a gift from Mr. Cutting.

A gift?

A gift.

Was it your birthday?

No.

What'd you give him, then?

The answer to that
has nothing to do with you.

- Don't tell me you're angry with me.
- No.

I'm through with you.

Well, you're quicker
than most fellows.

Generally, they wait till afterwards.

I ain't interested
in the Butcher's leavings.

Hey! Bill says
keep clear of the pikers.

- Fifteen to one, Bug-Eye Moran.
- Amsterdam!

Everyone was working
for the Butcher.

We ran his errands,
made his money...

took a piece and said,
"Thank you, sir."

- Gentlemen, it's a raid!
- Even Tweed.

- The fight's over.
- Even me.

- All right, you stupid...
- My father's son.

- What the hell is this?
- Sorry, Bill.

The city ordinance against boxiana's
a blight, I grant you, but some...

I'm losing revenue while you speechify.
Collect those bets!

How do I collect
if no one won the fight?

This counts as a "no decision".
You got that covered, right?

Didn't anybody pay off the police?

We paid the Municipal Police.
This is Metropolitan.

- You'll repay me every cent.
- Mr. Tweed...

- Who asked for your opinion?
- Let him speak!

He don't answer to you.

The law says there's no boxing
in the city, right?

- That's right. In the city.
- Well, where does the city end?

The winner, in the 75th round...

Allow me to acknowledge the man whose
vision and enterprise made possible...

the staging of this noble combat...

in these awe-inspiring
and entirely legal surroundings:

Mr. William Cutting!

And... And his young associate!

That's you, boy.

Come on, get in there.
Come on, son.

You done very good.
How do you like them apples?

We done good.
We done all right.

- While I have your attention...
- It was a good show.

...may I remind you of the wonders
that await you...

at my museum located on Broadway!

P.T. Barnum's Gallery of Wonders!

- That's my money!
- Get your hands out of me pockets!

It's a funny feeling being took
under the wing of a dragon.

It's warmer than you think.

That's the building of our country
right there, Mr. Cutting.

Americans aborning.

I don't see no Americans.
I see trespassers.

Irish harps will do a job for a nickel
what a nigger does for a dime...

and a white man used to get
a quarter for.

What have they done?
Name one thing they've contributed.

- Votes.
- Votes, you say?

They vote how the archbishop
tells them. And who tells him?

Their king in the pointy hat
what sits on his throne in Rome.

Bill's got mixed feelings
as regards the Irish.

Deliver these good and fervent folk
to the polls on a regular basis...

and there'll be a handsome price
for each vote goes Tammany's way.

My father gave his life
making this country what it is.

Murdered by the British with all his men
on the 25th of July, anno Domini 1814.

You think I'm gonna help you
befoul his legacy...

by giving this country over to them
what's had no hand in fighting for it?

Why? Because they come off a boat,
crawling with lice and begging for soup?

You're a great one for the fighting,
I know, but you can't fight forever.

- I can go down doing it.
- And you will.

What did you say?

I said, you're turning your back
on the future.

Not our future.

That document makes you a citizen. This
makes you a private in the Union Army.

Now go fight for your country.

Next.

Sign here, son.
Or make your mark.

You're in the Army now.
Three square meals a day.

Uniforms first, then weapons.

- I haven't eaten in two days.
- Keep moving, men.

There's your musket.
Keep it dry on the boat.

- Same for this cartridge case.
- Where are we going?

- I heard Tennessee.
- Where's that?

Do they feed us now, do you think?

My children! My children!

We must heal the divisions
between us.

This war must cease.

North and South must stand united!

You're a liar! Rubbish!

- What happens at the finish, then?
- Then we have ourselves a rowdy-dow.

- Ain't you been to the theater before?
- No.

Mr. Legree, lay down your whip.

Miss Eliza,
join hands with Mr. Shelby.

And, Topsy, dear little Topsy,
cradle Uncle Tom's head.

Leave the nigger dead!

Get me down!

Down with the Union!

Down with the Union!

Down with the Union!

- Down with the Union!
- Down with the Union!

- For the blood of the Irish!
- Bill, get down!

Somebody's popped the Butcher!

Stifle that rat bastard down!

God, forgive me.

Whose man are you?

Speak smart and speak up.

What's he saying, boy?

I think he's making his peace
with God.

The hell with that.
He makes peace with me.

I'm hearing confession tonight,
you mother-whoring Irish nigger!

Whose man are you?
We speak English in this country.

Whose man are you?
See this knife?

I'm gonna teach you to speak English
with this fucking knife!

Whose man are you?

Whose man are you?

Well, that didn't tell us very much.

Fine waistcoat.

Shame about it.
I don't think it can be mended.

Will I keep it as a souvenir?

Where's Legree? Where's Mopsy?

Tragedians, let's continue.
Intermission is over!

Now that was bloody Shakespearean.

- What?
- Do you know who Shakespeare was?

He was the fellow who wrote
the King James Bible.

I don't know what you're talking about.

That's because you're a thick,
ignorant, barbarous Irish whelp.

Just like your father.

That's it.

Tear my head off and destruct the world,
just like the rest of the stupid Irish.

- That's why I never ran with your dad.
- Get off me, you crazy bastard!

It means, if you're not strong,
you'd better be smart.

I don't know if you're being
too clever or too dumb.

Whichever it is,
just remember this much.

For all his faults, your father
was a man who loved his people.

Amsterdam! Amsterdam!

New York is calling you.

Look at that.
What in Christ's name is that?

Rhythms of the Dark Continent thrown
into the kettle with an Irish shindig.

Stir it around a few times, pull it out,
it's a fine American mess.

A jig doing a jig.

A little keepsake.

- Good on you, sir.
- Come upstairs with me, Bill.

Have I ever had you before?

So you don't call me
by my Christian name.

Bill! Thank God you're all right.

I heard the news
and came as quick as I could.

You're as timely as the Angel of Death.

Bill, you're not suggesting that I would
stoop to what you're suggesting?

Stop slabbering. If I thought it was you,
you'd be in a wooden coat.

The hole in my shoulder hurts,
so have a drink and shut up.

Or shut up and get out.

I believe I'll have a drink.

Careful, Tweedy,
the mort's frenchified.

No, no, I'm clean.
Come on, let's go to the bar.

- Jenny.
- Bill.

It's gotta be tight.

She loves to make me cry.

You can take it.

There's my boy.

It's all right.

To the Butcher.

We're all much obliged.

Forever.

- Bill the Butcher.
- To the Butcher.

Why don't you get out of here, Johnny?

Go on. Go.

Is there anyone in the Five Points
you haven't fucked?

You!

Calm down!

Try it and I'll bite you!

If you were gonna bite me,
I don't think you'd warn me, huh?

Find out.

I can't sleep.

I hope you don't mind us
laying out tonight here, sir.

Whatever takes your fancy,
my young friend.

Is it your shoulder
that's keeping you up?

No, I don't never sleep too much.

I have to sleep with one eye open.
I only got one eye, right?

How old are you, Amsterdam?

I'm not too sure.

I never did figure it.

I'm 47.

Forty-seven years old.

You know how I stayed alive this long?
All these years?

Fear.

The spectacle of fearsome acts.

Somebody steals from me,
I cut off his hands.

He offends me,
I cut out his tongue.

He rises against me,
I cut off his head, stick it on a pike...

and raise it high up
so all in the streets can see.

That's what preserves
the order of things.

Fear.

That one tonight...

who was he?

A nobody.

A coward.

What an ignominious end
that would have been.

I killed the last honorable man
15 years ago. Since then, it's...

You've seen his portrait downstairs?

Is your mouth glued up with
cunny juice? I asked you a question!

I said, I seen it, sir.

Oh, you got a murderous rage
in you, and I like it.

It's life boiling up inside of you.
It's good.

The Priest and me,
we lived by the same principles.

It was only faith divided us.

He give me this, you know.

That was the finest beating
I ever took.

My face was pulp...

my guts was pierced
and my ribs was all mashed up.

And when he came to finish me...

I couldn't look him in the eye.

He spared me because
he wanted me to live in shame.

This was a great man.

A great man.

So I cut out the eye that looked away.

Sent it to him, wrapped in blue paper.

I would have cut them both out
if I could have fought him blind.

Then I rose back up again
with a full heart...

and buried him in his own blood.

Well done.

He was the only man I ever killed
worth remembering.

I never had a son.

Civilization is crumbling.

God bless you.

If you got anything to say...

now is the time to say it.

Who is he to you, Jenny?

I was 12 years old.

My mother was dead.
I was living in a doorway.

He took me in, took care of me...

in his own way.

After they cut out the baby...

Well, he doesn't fancy girls
that scarred up.

You should know in your own mind...

that he never laid a hand on me
until I asked him to.

Who are you?

Who are you?

Gentlemen. Fine gentlemen,
you are most welcome...

to this palace of wonder
and enchantment...

where visions to rival the finest
imaginings of Scheherezade...

and her tales from
the perfumed nights of Arabia...

will greet your famished eyes.

What am I bid for this
flaxen-haired Teutonic beauty?

Feast your eyes on the magnificent
plumage of these exotic creatures.

Gentlemen, you've seen
our caged birds.

Well, how'd you like
to make them sing?

Let me see the color of your money,
and they could be singing for you.

May God put the steel of the Holy Spirit
in my spine...

and the love of the Blessed Virgin
in my heart.

Amen.

Easy now.

What did you say?

He's not who he says he is.

He's not who he says he is?

What am I bid? What am I bid?
What am I bid?

Count your blessings
he considers you a friend.

The only thing he considers, every day
and every night, is how best to kill you.

You got a loose tongue in your head.
You want me to take it out for you?

I'll bury it right up your fundament
where it belongs.

I can read right through you.
You're empty...

His name is Vallon!

Don't do it, Bill. His name's Vallon.

They're curious people,
these Celestials.

Don't trust this guy.

- Know why he wears short sleeves?
- Why?

So everyone can see
he's got nothing stashed.

Jesus, let's hope that never
becomes the fashion.

Johnny.

Get up.

Ladies and gentlemen,
if I may have your kind attention.

As some of you have surely noticed...

our friend and benefactor
Mr. William Cutting...

is tonight wearing a waistcoat
of certain distinction.

Might we...

Might we tonight appeal
to him to favor us...

with another exciting exhibition
of skill...

courage, daring and drama!

- The Sword of Damascus!
- The Tomahawk!

Bill's going up.

Show us your knives.

Strut your stuff, Billy boy.

Sword of Damascus!

- The Spider's Kiss!
- The River of Blood!

- The Morning Glory!
- The Wheel of Death!

- William Tell!
- The Butterfly!

- The Tomahawk!
- The Spider's Kiss!

The Butcher's Apprentice!

The Butcher's Apprentice.

- Command performance.
- Command performance.

- Command performance.
- Where have you been?

A command performance indeed!

- Get out of here.
- Don't do it.

And for this I must beg the indulgence
of my former assistant...

in matters of impalement.

The Butcher's original apprentice.

What do you say, Jen?
One more time for the sweet souvenir?

Come on.

Don't you do it.

Good girl, Jenny.

- Don't be afraid.
- What a woman.

Good evening, Bill.

She'll be all right.

- Remember this?
- Of course.

You may feel more comfortable
without that garment, Miss Everdeane.

You'll have to filch me a new one, Bill.

Anything in your pockets tonight?

Oh, I ain't started working yet.

What about that locket
that I gave you?

Apologies, my dear. Pick it up.

Whoopsie-daisy!

Now it's good and broke.

I can't seem to get anything
right tonight.

You got the sand to give them
a grand finale?

Maybe when you're aiming
a little straighter.

Still got some blood in you, Jen?
Enough of this heathen music!

Get rid of these goddamn monkeys.
Strike up, boys!

Ready? This is a night for Americans!

- Jenny!
- Get your hands off me.

- Go away.
- Get your hands off me!

Move.

Amsterdam!

Hats off!

We hold in our hearts the memory
of our fallen brothers...

whose blood stains the very streets
we walk today.

Also on this night, we pay tribute
to the leader of our enemies...

an honorable man
who crossed over bravely...

fighting for what he believed in.

To defeat my enemy,
I extinguish his life...

and consume him
as I consume these flames.

In honor of Priest Vallon.

That's a wound.

God!

I want you all to meet
the son of Priest Vallon.

I took him under my wing...

and see how I'm repaid?

- You bastard!
- Saves my life one day...

so he can kill me the next
like a sneak-thief...

instead of fighting like a man.

A base defiler,
unworthy of a noble name.

God! Jesus!

All right, that'll do, McGloin.
Splay him out.

This show ain't for blackies.
You! You get to watch.

Don't you hear, nigger?

This is fresh meat.
You know what I mean?

We need to tenderize this meat
a little bit.

All right, let's kiss good night
to that pretty young face of yours.

No!

No!

What'll it be, then? Rib or chop?
Loin or shank?

- The liver!
- The spleen!

- The tongue!
- Kidneys!

- The lungs!
- The liver!

- The tongue!
- The kidneys!

- The stomach!
- The heart! The heart!

The heart? This boy has no heart.

- Then kill him!
- Kill him!

He ain't earned a death.
He ain't earned a death at my hands.

No. He'll walk amongst you
marked with shame...

a freak worthy of Barnum's
Museum of Wonders.

God's only man spared
by the Butcher.

No, Bill!

No! No!

No! No! No!

No! No! No!

Here. Here!

This way. Come on. Come on!

I wanna show you something.

My mother's bones share this grave.

I've saved 10 cents out of every dollar
I've ever earned since I was 13.

That's $ 215.

That's $215 for budgeting
and the rest.

This is what I wanted to show you.

This is where we're gonna go
as soon as you get well.

San Francisco, California.

You can have anything you want
out there.

These men are pulling gold right out
of the river with their own hands.

We're here, and we need to get there.

We start here, go down around here...

to San Francisco.

Shortest way to go.

Would you go with me?

No need to fire that, miss.
Or even aim it.

An audience with your mangled friend
is all I want.

I got 44 notches in my club.

Do you know what they're for?

To remind me of what I owe God
when I die.

My father was killed in battle too.

In Ireland, in the streets...

fighting those who would take
as their privilege...

what could only be got and held
by the decimation of a race.

That war is 1,000 years old or more.

We never expected it to follow us here.

It didn't.

It was waiting for us when we landed.

Your father tried to carve out a corner
in this country for his tribe.

That was him.
That was his 'Dead Rabbits'.

I often wondered,
if he'd lived a bit longer...

would he have wanted a bit more?

Why'd you rifle through
his pockets then?

For safekeeping.

I thought maybe you could do with it.

The blood stays on the blade.

That's a sorry-looking pelt.

And it's been so nice and quiet
for the last three months.

Tell me, this charge,
does it sit uneasy with you?

No, it's...

not uneasy, Bill.

No, I wouldn't say that.

But my allegiance is to the law.

I'm paid to uphold the law.

What in heaven's name
are you talking about?

You may have misgivings,
but don't go believing that.

That way lies damnation.

I'm in no danger of damnation, Bill.

Here's the thing.

I don't give a tuppenny fuck
about your moral conundrum...

you meat-headed shit-sack.

That's more or less the thing.

And I want you to go out there...
You, nobody else.

None of your little minions.
I want you to go out there...

and I want you...

to punish the person...

who's responsible...

for murdering
this poor little rabbit.

Is that understood?

Right.

Help yourself to some decent meat
on the way out.

Damn it.

Is that you, boy?

I didn't mean nothing
by that shot, you know.

You scared me is all.

Sure you know I'd never do you harm.

Come out now, lad.

Remember your father and me.

Are you too young to remember
your old Uncle Jack?

Oh, the times we had.

You know I won't hurt you.

Is he dead?

I'm gonna get Andrew.
Andrew, come see.

Andrew, come see, quick!
Everybody, quick!

This is bad for everybody.
What's next? Dead politicians?

I could spare half a dozen of you
easier than I can spare him.

Still, I think it shows dash.

Give the boy some time.
We'll settle with a good dustup.

There's more of us coming
off these ships every day.

I heard 15,000 Irish a week.

And we're afraid of the Natives.

Get all of us together,
we ain't got a gang. We got an army.

And all you need's a spark, right?
Just one spark.

Something to wake us all up.

It was me played you false.

- I'd take it back if I could.
- Take it back?

Johnny, I gotta kill you.

Get out of the Points
and don't come back.

Where you going, boyo?

Come along.

Come on.

Tell us, John, what's the trouble?

No trouble, Bill.

Still hiding out with your friends?

No, I'm... I'm not with them, Bill.

I'm with you. I'm with the Natives.

You always was a Native
as far as I'm interested, John...

till you became a stag.

You tell me you're a Native.
Do you want to know what a Native is?

A Native is a man...

what's willing to give his life
for his country...

like my father done.

Are you willing to do that,
my young friend?

John. Johnny!

Johnny?

John...

It hurts too much.

Just kill me.

Just kill me.

Please, please.

Please.

Please.

I'm sorry, Johnny.

Holy Mary, mother of God,
pray for us sinners...

now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.

Rest in peace, Ma.

What're you doing here, boyo?

What's a nigger doing in this church?

What's a Dead Rabbit doing
with the Natives?

There's no niggers in the Natives.
Natives and Rabbits is one thing.

A nigger in the church
is something else!

You run with the Natives,
pray with them!

You're gonna wind up on a stake
like your man did!

McGloin.

Father! Jesus, did you know
there's a nigger in your church?

Jesus.

The earth turns...

but we don't feel it move.

Then one night you look up.

One spark, and the sky is on fire.

It's a touching spectacle.

We'll come back
when you're ready for us.

The past is the torch
that lights our way.

Where our fathers have shown us
the path, we shall follow.

Our faith is the weapon most feared
by our enemies.

For thereby shall we lift our people up
against those who would destroy us.

Our name is called the 'Dead Rabbits'
to remind all of our suffering...

and as a call to those who suffer still
to join our ranks...

however so far they may have strayed
from our common home across the sea.

For with great numbers
must come great strength...

and the salvation of our people.

- We don't want your business.
- How many men live here?

- You have to register.
- You can't force me to join.

- Have you got $300?
- Of course not.

- Who's got $300?
- If you're drafted, release from service...

can only be secured for $300,
according to the Conscription Act.

- Otherwise, you have to serve!
- Who the hell's got $300?

You have to serve, sir,
unless you have $300!

- Boys!
- Go back to where you came from!

I'm born in this country. You immigrated
here. You will fight for this country!

Sweet Jesus!
War does terrible things to men.

- Get back uptown where you belong!
- $300? So it's another rich man's war.

Sir, I request an audience
with this man.

No one speak English
in New York anymore?

- Don't understand.
- You do speak English.

I wonder if Miss Everdeane could
angle her rifle in some other direction.

I wonder, Mr. Vallon, if you understand
the true value of this sort of publicity.

The archbishop himself, shoulder to
shoulder with the Irish in the Five Points.

I'm offering to form an alliance
with you against Bill Cutting...

and his slate
of Nativist candidates.

I'll negotiate a handsome fee for every
Irish vote you send Tammany's way...

in the coming elections.

I need a new friend
in the Five Points, son.

I'd like that friend to be you.

Now, just a moment, Mr. Tweed.

Suppose we do
get you those votes.

Would you back an Irish candidate
of my choosing?

- I don't think so.
- What if we get you all the Irish votes?

That will only happen
in the reign of Queen Dick.

- Beg your pardon?
- It will never happen.

I might be persuaded to back an
Irish candidate for, say, alderman.

- Alderman?
- We've already got Irish aldermen.

- So we have. That's why...
- Well, what's bigger than alderman?

Sheriff. Sheriff.
All right, Mr. Tweed.

You back an Irishman for sheriff
of the city and county of New York...

and we'll get him elected.

I love the Irish, but higher than alderman
you shall never climb.

- Well, why not?
- For one thing, no man living...

- can consolidate the Irish vote.
- I can.

And for another,
I mean no effrontery...

no one's yet found an Irish candidate
for sheriff worth voting for.

Monk.

Here.

He's to have me looking as sober
as me own grandfather.

- Another great man, I'm sure.
- A thorough drunken bastard.

Could I say what I want?

Well, that's why I wanted you.

Our elected representatives
are a gang of thieves...

who swear to better our lot...

while dipping their hands deep
into our pockets.

I stand shoulder to shoulder with
community leaders like Bill Cutting...

against any and all inroads
into our fine democracy.

I'll see to it that no one takes away what
you've earned by pluck and application.

To invading hordes of Hibernians!

You go to the polls and you put your
mark next to the name Walter McGinn.

Against the potato eaters, like them
over there, thieving our jobs!

Why should so many
Irish die down south...

when the first war to win is not down
in Dixie, but right here in these streets?

And who's the finest street fighter
in the Five Points?

- Monk!
- That's right.

Now, let the whole damn city hear it!

That man was right born for this.

Well, he's killed 44 men,
laid low a couple hundred more.

- Is that right?
- That's right.

I should have run him for mayor.

All right, line them up.
It's election day!

Not so fast,
you little yellow bastard!

Come on!

Come on, you bastard,
we need your vote.

Bastard? I fought for you, nigger.
I lost an arm for you.

Well, that's a start.
Now, come on.

Rise and shine.
Rise and shine.

In this great country of ours,
even the hop fiends get to vote!

Less art and more haste, Don.

- Where are you going?
- I already voted today.

Cast for Monk and Tammany,
by God. Twice.

Twice? Only twice? You call that doing
your civic duty? Come with me.

Oh, no, you don't.
Get back and sit down.

Here's another one.
Clean him up good.

Shave their beards and send them back
to vote again.

All right, boys. Vote Monk, Tammany.
Monk, Tammany!

So, gentlemen, what our great city
needs is a new courthouse.

I propose it should be a modest,
economical structure.

Excuse me one moment.

Monk's already won by 3,000
more votes than there are voters.

Three? Make it 20, 30. We don't need
a victory. We need a Roman triumph!

- But we don't have any more ballots.
- Remember the first rule of politics:

The ballots don't make the results,
the counters make the results.

Keep counting.

It's from Bill.

Monk.

Citizens of the Five Points...

Mr. Bill Cutting is attempting
to draw me into an argument...

that would no doubt end in bloodshed
and the compromising of my office.

What do you think?

Should I engage in silence
this relic of the ancient law?

Or shall I be your chosen voice
in a new testament, in the new world?

There you are, Bill.

The people have spoken.

The very notion of violent reprisal
benumbs them.

Come on up.

Let's see if we can resolve
our grievances the democratic way.

That, my friends,
is the minority vote.

Now you've tasted my mutton.
How do you like it?

Look.

I want you to see this.

This is you. Right here.

Notch 45, you Irish bog bastard.

Why don't you burn him,
see if his ashes turn green.

Fortune favors the bold!

- You killed an elected official?
- Who elected him?

You don't know what
you've done to yourself.

I know your works.

You are neither cold nor hot.

So because you are lukewarm,
I will spew you out of my mouth.

You can build your filthy world
without me.

I took the father.
Now I'll take the son.

You tell young Vallon I'm gonna
paint Paradise Square with his blood.

Two coats.

I'll festoon my bedchamber
with his guts.

As for you,
Mr. Tammany-fucking-Hall...

you come down
to the Points again...

and you'll be dispatched
by mine own hand.

Now get back to your celebration
and let me eat in peace. I paid you fair.

Stop.

Raise.

You son of a bitch!

Challenge.

Challenge accepted.

And then it came,
the first day of the draft.

Thomas O'Neill. Andrew Lewis.
Joseph Flynn.

They read out the draftees ' names
like they was dead already.

Andrew Martin. J.B. Gleason.

- The 'O'Connell Guard'.
- The 'Plug Uglies'.

- As for us, the tribes were gathered.
- Forty Thieves.

- The 'Chichesters'.
- The drums was beating.

The 'Dead Rabbits'.

- The American Guard.
- The Atlantic Guard.

- The 'Slaughter Housers'.
- The Bowery Boys.

The Confederation
of American Natives.

James Mooney.

But all we could see
was the hand in front of us.

Sean O'Connell.

G.W. Morris. John Doyle.

- When?
- Whenever you like.

- Daybreak tomorrow.
- Ground?

Paradise Square.

Weapons?

- That I leave up to you.
- Bricks, bats, axes, knives...

Pistols?

No pistols.

Good boy.

The terms are resolved.
The council's concluded.

Thomas McEvoy. W.H. Miles.

- To hell with your damned draft!
- Give them hellfire, boys!

Rip them apart!

Kill the rich bastards!

Uptown!

You're not getting my son!

Uptown at the draft office...

the cops broke a few skulls,
and everybody run away.

But the word was spreading...

and the dark.

Up on Fifth Avenue...

the Schermerhorns and their mob
breathed a little easy.

Just a brief burst of anger
over Mr. Lincoln's draft.

Entirely justifiable in my view.

- There are two sides to that question...
- There are several sides...

but only one right side,
as with any question...

that involves the abuse
of executive power.

In any case, Mr. Greeley...

we can all be thankful
that it wasn't any worse.

It may be worse yet. I saw them.
I don't know what to think.

Now what is it that you are
so fond of saying, Mr. Tweed?

Mr. Greeley, you won't like this.
But what is it?

I don't remember.

"You can always hire one half
of the poor to kill the other half."

I've come to say goodbye.

I've booked passage for California.

Jenny, give me one more day,
and I'll go with you.

You'll be dead by then.

- Well, what would you have me do?
- I don't know.

- This will all be finished tomorrow.
- No, it won't.

No.

This whole place
is gonna burn anyway.

I've heard that the poor are going
from door to door in the Five Points...

asking those supporters
who wish to see further riots...

to place a lighted candle
in the window.

Irish, Poles, Germans, all of them.

Mr. Greeley, the city is not mad.
I prophesy a very dark night.

Nobody goes to work today!
We'll shut the factories down!

When the sun rose next,
the city had split in half.

From all over New York they came:

Ironworkers, factory boys,
street cleaners...

Irish, Polish, German...

anyone who never cared
about slavery or the Union...

anyone who couldn't buy his way out.

"Let the sons of the rich
go and die", they cried.

"Let the sons of the poor stay home."

The earth was shaking now.

But I was about my father's business.

A bunch of fifth Avenue scums!

Almighty Lord,
you are the dagger in my hand.

Guide my hand
on this day of vengeance.

We give thanks to the Lord,
for he is good.

With you, the swift cannot flee,
nor the strong escape.

Let my sword devour until its thirst
is quenched with blood...

and my enemies sleep forever.

For you are the Lord God of Retribution.

For the Lord crushes the wicked.

The Lord is merciful...

and his love endures forever.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Amen.

- Run away, you sons of bitches!
- Come on out!

- Upstairs! Get the women upstairs!
- Father! Father!

Let's take the bastards!

From 18th Precinct: The mob are sacking
houses, 27th Street and Seventh Ave.

We have no force to send.

16th Precinct: All the stores
are closing on Eighth Avenue...

from fear of the mob in 17th Street.

Show us what you got,
you cowardly bastards!

From 4th: The rioters are robbing
colored boarding houses...

and setting them on fire.
From 21st:

The mob have just broken open
gun store and are arming.

- Get the nigger! Kill him!
- Tear Tammany down!

The marshal's office is burning down.
The police is of no avail.

Show yourself, Tweed!

Two colored men brought
in almost dead.

There are more Negroes who need help.
They're being attacked all over.

Hey! There's a $300 man.
Get him!

Did your daddy buy you out of the Army?
Can he buy me out too?

There's danger of mob attacking armory,
corner 21st Street, Second Avenue.

There is about 500 stand of arms in it.

The line is dead!
They're trying to cut all the wires!

From 1st: Riot at Pier 4, North River.
They have killed Negroes.

A crowd is here
and are going to destroy this station.

Get her bag! Get her bag!

From 18th Precinct:

The mob have attacked the armory.
There is danger of firing the building.

All 300 police wounded
or unaccounted for.

Find the military
and send them...

From 20th: Send 100 men to disperse
mob assailing Mayor Opdyke's house.

Building set on fire by the mob.

Barnum's American Museum on fire.
Animals are escaping.

Let go! Let go!

Hush the shickster! Hold her down!

Gunboat Liberty and ironclad Passaic
now lying off the foot of Wall Street.

They are ready to open fire on the mob.

Very large mob going
to attack Tribune office.

From 16th: Mob's coming down
to station. We have no men.

- 18th: The mob is very wild.
- From 16th: 7th Regiment has arrived.

Foot of Canal, they are
on their way to Broadway.

Take your hands off me!

The mob is about 4,500 strong.

They're going to burn down
Harlem Bridge. It is to be torched.

- Mr. Greeley!
- The rats have taken over the city!

From 21st: There is an attack on the
colored people in Second Avenue...

Mob headed for the Colored Orphans
Asylum. Protect the children!

Rioters on Seventh Avenue,
28th Street.

- They have killed a Negro.
- Get him!

What do we do with captured prisoners?

Prisoners? Don't take any.
The mob isn't taking prisoners!

Don't take a prisoner in
until you've put the mob down!

Soldiers now on 38th Street.
The mob will not disperse.

What are your orders?
What are your orders?

- No draft! No draft!
- Show them what we think of their draft!

- Stick together!
- All right.

Troop, halt!

Present arms!

On your order, Vallon.

Hold fast, there.
Hold fast, there.

I order you to disperse!

Fire!

Fire starboard!

Starboard battery, fire!

Come on, let's go!

Fire over their heads!

Drive them into the square!

Bill!

Fire!

Advance!

Bill!

I can't walk!

Get up!

Fire!

- Bastards!
- Shang! Shang, hold off!

Thank God.

I die a true American.

Tomorrow morning,
get our people down to the docks.

I want every man and woman coming off
the boats given hot soup and bread.

We're burying a lot of votes
down here tonight.

In the end, they put candles
on the bodies so's their friends...

if they had any,
could know them in the dark.

The city did this free of charge.

Shang, Jimmy Spoils,
Hell-Cat, McGloin and more.

Friend or foe,
it didn't make no difference now.

It was four days and nights before the
worst of the mob was finally put down.

We never knew how many
New Yorkers died that week...

before the city was finally delivered.

My father told me we was all born
of blood and tribulation.

And so then too was our great city.

But for those of us what lived
and died in them furious days...

it was like everything we knew
was mightily swept away.

And no matter what they did
to build the city up again...

for the rest of time...

it would be like no one even knew
we was ever here.