Original subtitles

I'm not wrong about Flint.

- To him we're all disposable. - I don't believe that.

That's because you don't know about Mrs. Barlow.

You found the schedule.

What if I forgo payment for the schedule

in exchange for my share of the prize?

We'll need some additional items.

- New guns... 12-pounders. - You'll have it.

Without the Urca we have nothing.

Without Vane we don't have the Urca.

Our friend tried to protect you. You left anyway.

- Why? - How did you feel when she threw you aside?

Eleanor, wait.

- Listen to me carefully. - You are finished.

Unless you decide to join the crew of Captain Flint.

Looks like she just gave us a ship.

Ship with no captain.

- So sorry he did this to you. - He didn't do this to me.

You did.

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Captain Gates.

It's time.

First item for the council concerns leadership.

As you know, I've been asked to serve as captain

of the Ranger when next we sail.

Obviously that means less time spent with you idiots.

So...

you will need somebody to act as your quartermaster in the meantime.

Unless anybody's got any better ideas,

I was thinking Billy Bones.

I thought so.

Billy.

Ahem.

Next item... careening.

Bad start, Billy.

She's long overdue. If we're gonna win the Urca,

the Walrus must be shipshape. That means we tip her.

Plain and simple. The question is,

where do we do the tipping?

Wherever there's plenty of rum.

As always, the ship's account is open.

Rum casks and Mr. Simpson's buttered oranges are on their way.

And the pigs are being readied for Mr. Silver's spit.

Now, to return to the issue of location.

What about the fuck tent?

That's probably something we can discuss.

Fuck tent! Fuck tent!

Mr. De Groot.

You may not like what I have to say,

but if it remains unsaid, I fear the worst.

I've inspected the shoreline proposed by the captain

for this undertaking and it is simply unsuitable

to the task at hand. The anchorage is poor.

The incline too steep.

I cannot endorse it. The risk for calamity is too high.

With the crew's assent,

I ask for time to find a more suitable beach.

And delay our efforts by how long?

Two weeks? A month?

A clean hull

means an extra knot or two in speed,

five degrees or more in coming about.

It's essential to the job at hand.

If we had weeks, we'd surely take them.

But we must sail within days

if we are to meet the Urca.

Now, Mr. De Groot's concerns are valid...

but they come at a price.

$5 million in Spanish gold, to be exact.

All those in favor of the captain's plan

to careen here near the bay?

Aye!

It would appear the ayes have it.

Nay.

Mr. Morley's dissent is noted along with Mr. De Groot's.

All right, let's beach this bitch.

Yeah, quick question, then. Where are we on the issue of the fuck tent?

- Yeah! - This job is gonna happen fast.

That means more risk, more danger.

Now you've put a great deal of trust in me

to serve in Mr. Gates' absence, and I take that seriously.

So given the potential for distraction and delay

at a time that we need to be at our best,

perhaps we can all agree to forgo,

just this once, a fuck tent.

You shouldn't have.

Stale winds, still waters.

Don't be such an old lady.

The men will rise to it.

What say you, Mr. Quartermaster?

You think it's a good idea?

Yeah, I think the captain knows what he's doing.

That's because you don't know about Mrs. Barlow.

Who's Mrs. Barlow?

Number of years back,

before you crewed up with us,

Flint had us hunting a merchant ship,

the Maria Aleyne.

Sephardic trade...

gold, pearls, jewels.

"More than we'd ever know what to do with," he said.

But that's Flint's gift, isn't it?

Always knows just what to say to push us harder,

further, make us all pull together for the cause.

We tracked that bitch for months

without refitting or careening,

till finally we spotted her.

We lost good men taking her

for a haul nowhere near what Flint had promised.

While I was exploring the hold,

I chanced upon a cabin and that's when I heard it.

'Twas a man and a woman begging for their lives.

"Spare us, and our fortune's yours."

For a moment, I thought all our shares

were gonna be worth a whole lot more.

But that's when the screams began.

And when I watched the murderer leave,

I saw him plain.

Did you tell anyone?

Gates.

He was unmoved, to say the least.

"Just one rich bastard less in the world," he said.

At the time, I'll admit, I took his point.

But days later we come ashore.

I see a lady waiting for Flint.

The rest of the crew thought she's just some fancy bit of Puritan tail.

But when Flint reaches her,

two words escape his lips.

"They're dead."

Hunting the Maria Aleyne

was never about money.

It was an execution.

All those men we lost taking her,

they died so Flint could settle

some personal vendetta for her.

You watch.

Good men will die for some hidden agenda.

The Barlow woman's agenda.

Mark my words, Billy.

It's all happening again.

Will you be staying long?

I have to get back.

If you're upset with me, I'd appreciate you saying so.

You know why I'm upset.

Because I read to him?

There's a whole shelf full of books.

Why'd you have to read him that one?

Perhaps because I am no longer willing

to bury it on a shelf and pretend it has no meaning for me.

That book is something I shared with Thomas.

I just missed it.

Our life then

when he was alive.

I can feel myself forgetting it

and I don't want to forget it.

This place, this life that we've been living here,

it doesn't feel like living anymore.

I can't be alone in feeling this way.

Some part of you must feel it, too.

Things will get better here.

I promise you they will.

Here you go.

Christ.

One week without a ship and you go completely to hell.

Is it too much to ask that you not pick a fight

over every insult thrown our way?

Especially when I'm out there swallowing what little pride I have left

trying to set things right.

I see we've graduated to opium.

Miss Guthrie has dealt us quite a blow.

But we still have assets.

Eight loyal men, my wits,

and an unshakable captain.

I'm doing what I can to regain us our livelihood,

but once that's done, this crew, such as it is,

will need its captain back.

See what you can do about finding him.

Fuck you, Jack.

It was an isolated incident.

No cause for concern.

Your girl humiliated one of this island's strongest earners,

threatened his crew with embargoes

so they had no choice but to toss him aside.

I've had three other captains approach me

all asking the same question...

who's next to lose their livelihood

because they crossed her on the wrong day?

No one is next.

Every morning for months now when I walk the beach into town,

I see Captain Lilywhite standing on his stoop

and jabbering away to anyone who will listen

about the evils of a centralized fence.

Arguing that this island will never be free

until we all come together to cast off the tyrannical yoke

of Queen Eleanor.

I see him out there, too.

And I have never seen any more than three men

paying him any attention.

Half-wits, all of them.

There were 12 of them this morning.

This business with Vane has changed things.

Get control of her, Mr. Scott,

before it's too late.

Sail spotted. The Andromache.

Captain Bryson is arriving on the Andromache.

You'd best get down to the beach.

What did Captain Hornigold want?

Let me guess.

The captains grousing about last week

think I've lost my grip on reason.

Fuck Hornigold.

Fuck the captains and fuck anyone else

who doesn't like the way I manage this place.

What we're about to attempt with Captain Bryson,

it is very risky.

If he will not cooperate,

we cannot, under any circumstances,

attempt to detain him.

- What makes you think I'd try? - 'Cause I know you.

I know what you think is at stake.

And I know you think you cannot take no for an answer.

Why should I?

Eleanor, if you make a move

against Captain Bryson or his ship,

you'll be making a move against the Guthrie Trading Company.

A direct affront to your grandfather

and his interests in Boston.

That ship belongs to him.

When he finds out what you've done,

no one... not I nor your father...

will able to protect you from the consequences.

If Bryson balks, we must let him go.

And the guns Flint needs? What about them?

We'll find them some other way.

I never ask anything of you.

This I must insist on.

Tell me you understand.

I understand.

- How we doing? - Ahead of schedule.

Ready to raise the keel. I think we might actually pull it off.

We'll have Billy to thank for that.

I have no idea how he's done it,

but he's kept them to a schedule.

I don't think I've ever seen a crew

work this fast and this hard.

A few more days, we'll have the keel cleared

and tarred and she'll be ready to go back into the water.

Excuse me, Captain.

That's it. Secure these ropes.

Listen here, you smart-mouthed fuck.

I'm sorry, I don't understand.

I said I've got the shits. What part of that don't you understand?

What's going on?

His rotten pig gave the lot of us the bloody squirts.

It's possible it wasn't the pig, you know.

Some people have weak constitutions.

Hey! Settle down.

Mmm. It's delicious.

It's likely as not it wasn't the pig.

It's just something that's going around. Get back to work.

Thank you. I'm glad someone here likes...

What the fuck did you do to that?

I cooked it...?

You absolutely did not.

The men seemed to think it looked done.

Yes, well, they'd eat it raw if left to their own devices.

That's awfully cynical.

Go get another pig.

Do exactly as I say.

Now you see how it can be?

When I'm made to feel comfortable,

you are made to feel le toucher de dieu.

It's like our bodies are all made up of these

secret little compartments, she says,

what's got pleasures hidden inside 'em.

And it just takes someone

who knows how to unlock 'em. That's it.

Your friends, they have seen the reward

for gentle obedience.

If pleasure is what you want,

I assure you I can give it to you if you let me.

Indeed.

- Captain Bryson. - Mistress Guthrie.

I trust your passage was comfortable.

My cargo will be inventoried and off-loaded in the morning.

You'll find the books in good order.

That's good to hear, but I was hoping we could have a word.

Seeing as our every word only prolongs my stay in this cesspool,

I trust you'll make it quick.

I thought it best you heard from me first.

One of our crews intends to hunt the Urca de Lima.

A move against a state asset?

And your father hasn't quashed it?

- No, he hasn't. - Why on earth not?

Why don't you ask him yourself?

He'll be in my tavern shortly.

I understood you meant to hide his presence here.

We did until this morning.

Stand up, please, sir.

Once upon a time Mr. Scott was my personal houseboy.

Until he proved himself worthy

of greater responsibility.

That earned him an education

which he then passed on to my daughter.

And look where that's gotten me.

I'm afraid I still don't follow.

Captain Bryson commands the largest of my supply ships.

My daughter needs the guns from that ship

to arm Captain Flint

for his move against the Spanish treasure galleon.

Parting Bryson from his guns, however,

will require some convincing.

Evidently, Eleanor knows better than to try to do it herself.

And how can she be sure you won't betray her

and alert Captain Bryson to the fact of your arrest?

Because Bryson would have no choice but to liquidate our holdings here

and return me to Boston a failure.

Therefore, whatever resentments I might feel towards my daughter

and your friend the captain, I must put aside.

Absorb the blow, as it were.

Like a rocky promontory.

At any rate, I have a meeting to attend.

Shall we?

When I get my share of that Spanish gold,

I'm going to fuck my way through high society.

Nary a duchess's snatch be uncharted.

What the fuck is this?

You said tie it to the palm.

That palm. That one.

You tied it to the wrong fucking tree.

Yes, it matters.

Jesus, fix it, will you, please?

Christ.

Give a man a little bit of power.

What the fuck difference does it make?

They're both trees, ain't they?

Agreed.

Quick fuck?

Shove over, Randall.

The shade's mine for the next hour.

Don't want no arguments.

Did you bring me barnacle?

Oh, fuck.

Sorry, mate.

I forgot.

You promised. For Betsy.

You're right.

Hold my spot.

What the...?

Hey, what the fuck is your problem?

No problem at all, sir.

Just doing my share for a worthy cause.

Oh, so what is it? You tell me a story

and I'm supposed to fall in lockstep behind you?

You wouldn't even raise your voice

to question the captain's plan. Didn't even consider it.

Maybe I considered it and decided it was making sense.

Maybe.

Or maybe there's something you'd rather not say out loud.

Thought when that lackey Gates stepped aside,

we might have finally gotten a quartermaster

who wasn't fully in the captain's pocket.

Guess I was mistaken.

How exactly does the most feared captain of the high seas

learn how to spice and glaze a pig?

What do you care?

Well, I don't, really.

It's just that there's something we need to talk about

and I thought a little small talk beforehand

might be better than diving right in.

What the hell are you talking about?

What are we going to do about Billy?

Beg your pardon?

As much as it pains me to say this,

as he has been nothing but warm and welcoming to me,

he appears to be straining at the seams.

- I thought maybe we ought to have... - Stop.

There is no we. Billy Bones is a dutiful boatswain

who commands enormous respect from his crew as well as from myself.

I trust him a thousand times more

than I would a rodent like yourself.

Understood.

- All that being said... - Oh, Jesus Christ.

I saw Billy speaking with Mr. Morley

late last week.

At night.

In secret.

That supposed to mean something to me?

Well, he lied about the page being blank.

I believe it's wearing on him.

I told you once,

I won't tell you again.

I trust Billy.

Trust me.

I'm purely in this for myself and you know this.

I've no reason to tell you anything other than the truth.

Both our futures depend on this.

I haven't decided yet whether you even have a future.

But I can tell you this,

trying to play me against my own crew

will not help your cause.

Turn your pig. It's almost done.

- I can't do it, Jack. - Of course you can.

You simply present my crew's haul to Miss Guthrie as if it were your own.

You get a percentage. Everybody wins.

I get caught selling a grain of salt for you,

the girl puts my crew on the outs same as you.

I just can't risk it.

It ain't you she has a problem with, Jack.

Why stick with him?

It's a good question.

No, it's not.

There are other ships.

Had a few offers, have you?

Makes sense. You'd be an asset to any crew.

Now ask how many offers good old Jack has received

since our run-in with the lady Guthrie.

My only assets are my wits, and as the man who just lost

5,000 pesos of his ship's own money,

they are ill-valued at the moment.

Join another crew right now, the only task

I will be trusted with is swabbing out the piss buckets.

And that, my darling, I feel compelled to state out loud,

life is simply too fucking short!

What, you're angry with me, too?

Hey! Jack Rackham!

- Oh, for fuck's sake. - A word.

I'm sorry, I'd prefer you made an appointment. Quite a full day ahead.

You took one of my best whores for your private use.

Every day she's not under my roof fucking costs me money.

Ah, yes, but my crew sees her as responsible

for the loss of a great deal of their money.

They see this as a debt being repaid, nothing more.

Well, I see it as thieving bullshit.

Then I believe we're at an impasse.

Disagreement without prospect of resolution.

Fuck you, Jack. Give me back the whore.

You'd take her back yourself if you had the balls.

A few less men outside that tent than yesterday,

which had fewer than the day before.

Maybe I'll take you up on that offer

sooner than later.

What the hell was that?

Do you have some problem with us holding onto that whore?

You do realize she's the only thing keeping what's left of our crew at our side.

Fuck you.

You want the guns from my ship...

to hand over to a pirate?

That is correct.

Have you lost your mind?

You know as well as I do your family would never approve of this.

What my family approves or does not approve

rests solely on one thing... Eleanor...?

Profit.

Eleanor's arranged a plan to deliver them

quite a bit of it upon the success of this operation.

Enough to assuage any fears they may have about repercussions.

I find that hard to believe.

You're a brilliant seaman, Dyfed.

But in this instance, you're out of your depth.

Commerce in this place requires bold moves.

I'm fortunate enough to have a daughter who has found one for us.

Perhaps you're right.

Maybe I am out of my depth.

And yet this feeling persists.

And what feeling is that?

I wonder, Mr. Guthrie, if this might have something to do

with His Majesty's Ship the Scarborough currently docked at Harbour Island.

Docked outside your home.

My intent was to stop there first and unload the slaves in my hold,

but when I saw her, I thought better of it.

His Majesty's ships often use my port for resupply.

What are you implying?

I'd like to speak with your father alone.

Whatever you can say to him, you can say to me.

Eleanor, it's all right.

Your father can handle this.

He'll get you those guns.

Perhaps.

I couldn't leave it to chance.

Let us be frank.

You and I both know the low regard

in which your family in Boston holds you.

Quite frank, it seems.

If I returned unarmed and they find

that I did so under these circumstances

with only your orders as justification,

I'll be buried in a shallow grave somewhere out in Cambridge.

And what exactly do you believe "these circumstances" to be?

The Navy on your doorstep.

You and your daughter

supporting a plan as reckless as this.

It would seem, sir, that something's gone terribly wrong with the operation here

and you two are scrambling to save yourselves.

Tell me I'm wrong.

Let me tell you how wrong you are.

I knew you wouldn't approve.

But I couldn't let him leave here without giving up those guns.

I'm sorry.

With everything we've been through,

with everything I've done for you...

- I'm doing this for us both. - You lied.

Shame on you.

The guns are yours.

Mr. Hayes.

Truly something to behold, this place.

You should be proud.

Come now, Mr. Scott.

It's as much your work as Eleanor's.

What is this if not the moment of your vindication?

It's time we got you back.

She'll get herself killed.

If she proceeds with this Spanish galleon business,

attempting to steal treasure from one empire

to finance a war against another,

she will get herself killed.

Whether by English noose or Spanish sword,

it's inevitable and you know it.

If she proceeds...

what did you say to Bryson in that room?

Rest assured I had a plan.

Not just to end this insanity,

but to contend with what comes next.

To keep her safe.

I don't envy you.

You know that she'll stop at nothing to save this place.

A place where she matters.

A place where you matter.

Except that in your heart you know the truth.

Places like this aren't meant to last.

Help me, Mr. Scott.

Please.

Help me save her from herself.

Well, hello.

There's no need to be afraid.

You could help me if you like.

Aren't you the Gladwin boy?

Does your father know you're out here all alone?

I can take you to him.

Oh!

Witch!

Captain. Visitor.

The guns are yours.

Captain Bryson's preparing to off-load them as we speak.

Mr. O'Malley is on the lookout to ensure he complies.

Take a seat.

To our endeavor

and success close at hand.

What's wrong?

Your father step out of line?

It's Mr. Scott.

In order to guarantee Captain Bryson's acquiescence,

I put a plan into place without Mr. Scott's knowledge.

I lied to him.

Betrayed his trust.

I didn't want to, but I just didn't think he would understand.

Well, you can't expect him to.

Nobody will believe it's possible until we show them.

But when that day comes,

you know what they'll say?

They'll say that it was inevitable.

Get back!

Back off! Back off!

Get away! Get away!

Everyone, get up to the beach now! Come on!

- Let's go! Let's go! - Let's go!

She's going!

Get out!

Oh, shit.

Randall!

- I'll go. - Captain, there's no time.

The mainmast is holding too much weight.

We have to cut her loose!

Save the mast. Don't wait for me.

He's dug in. Help me.

Me leg! Me leg!

Pull! Pull! One, two, three, pull!

It's taking too long.

How much time do we have?

We don't.

Billy, the time is now!

It's no bloody use.

Your belt. Give me your belt.

- Billy. - Cut the ropes!

- Billy! - All right!

Right.

Do it!

Bite. Bite down on it.

Hold on, Randall.

Hold on.

All right, pull!

Shit.

I talked to De Groot. You did everything you could.

Not everything.

I should have stopped Flint.

Honestly, son,

how could you have done that?

Careful, Billy.

Flint pushed it through and I went along when I knew better.

Because you know what's at stake here.

You know he's right.

That's not why I...

It's because I'm afraid of him.

Billy and Morley.

That night on the ship,

what were they talking about?

Well, I didn't hear much,

but it sounded like they were talking about a woman.

Somebody Barlow.

Success?

Would you mind?

The music you were playing,

that's Purcell's Chaconne if I'm not mistaken.

You have an educated ear.

My father employed a tutor for all his children

so that they might learn to appreciate music.

I took to it the least of my siblings.

But for reasons beyond me, some of it stuck.

There's a pronounced sense of sadness

in Purcell's pieces.

Considering your circumstances,

I can understand their appeal.

And what is it you think you understand of my circumstances?

Truthfully,

I might know everything, Mrs. Hamilton.

Don't be alarmed.

I have no intention of disclosing your identity to anyone.

I'm sorry, sir. I think you have me mistaken for someone else.

The portrait in your room depicts you

alongside Lord Thomas Hamilton,

son of Alfred Hamilton,

the lord proprietor of these Bahama Islands.

Forgive me.

I must have gotten disoriented and wandered.

You see, I've had extensive dealings with the earl over the years,

and so I'd long heard of the tragedy

that befell his eldest son.

But Thomas's wife,

long rumored to be the cheating sort,

had begun a torrid affair

with her husband's closest friend,

a promising young officer in His Majesty's Navy.

And upon discovering the affair,

Thomas went mad with grief.

His despair so great,

even the asylum couldn't protect him from himself.

As for Thomas's wife,

she's said to have fled London along with her lover.

Partly out of shame,

partly to escape retribution.

Given the facts at hand, I am forced to assume

that the lover is none other

than our friend Captain Flint.

Please understand, I raise this issue

not to disturb or harass you.

In fact, I wish to help you.

Help me?

I can only assume that your exile in this place

has been less than ideal.

I understand how desperation

may have driven you here,

but perhaps it's time you were offered a hand

and a return to civilization.

And you could offer me that?

Boston is quite a different animal from London.

More forgiving of one's past

in a general sense.

And in this specific sense,

with my family's assistance,

one might find total absolution there.

New identities.

A clean start. A new life.

I could do that for you.

Why on earth would you?

Because I know what it is to be judged unfairly.

And because it's just possible that,

while I am uniquely situated

to offer you your freedom,

you may be able to do the same for me.

Hello, Charles.

You've looked better.

Fuck you.

We're alone.

You don't have to pretend with me.

The fuck did I ever do to you?

You made me look weak.

Standing beside you, I was your lesser.

I was a girl.

From the moment you met me,

you must have known I'd never settle for that.

For being less than.

That's why I loved you.

And you destroyed me.

I exposed you.

The weakness behind the mask.

The fear.

So much I have taken from you.

And yet still...

you know you could take it all back.

You could be strong again.

You could resist me.

You could take this whole fucking island from me.

You know exactly what it is you need to do.

Where it is you need to go to do it.

If only you weren't so goddamn afraid.

Ain't this a sad sight?

Miss Guthrie should have just had you killed.

It would have been more merciful.

Now, are you going to give me back me whore?

Jesus! On my shoe!

Oh, fuck it. Put him out of his misery.

Oh, for Christ...

Wait!

Listen to me!

The whorehouse,

I'll cut you in for half.

We'll be partners.

Please.

Do you know who I am, Pastor?

I do.

You're the reason this island is infested with criminals.

God teaches us not to cheer when others stumble.

In your case, I may ask His forgiveness.

And what does God say about redemption?

Accept His love and you'll find it.

What if I was prepared to go further?

Further?

Penance for my past sins.

Good works.

And they begin tonight.

Who's there?

Mr. Scott.

What are you doing here?

I thought you might use a hand.

Bastard's finally bringing in the first of the guns.

Took him long enough.

He takes his cargo seriously.

You look tired. Why don't I take over?

Miss Guthrie told me I was to see those guns off with my own eyes.

I understand.

I brought the fiends to this place.

Encouraged them.

Enriched them.

Empowered them.

It seems as though my penance ought to be a simple one.

I will see to it

that they are cast out of this place.

Soon.

And for good.

The Andromache. It can't be.

Captain Bryson hasn't had time to unload.

He didn't. She's riding low.

Those guns are still on board.

What are we going to do?

Get them back.

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