Black Sails (2014–2017): Season 1, Episode 4 - IV. - full transcript

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.

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.