Van Diemen's Land

I'm a quiet man.

A quiet man dreaming on nothing.

but whiskey in my blood, a song in my ear

a woman in my bed.

Wasn't the Devil in you when you brought me here?

Rain is coming.

The bottom of the world. A lovely prison.

Overseer: Alright. Come on, Dalton.

Come on.

Give me your hand. Come here.

OK, in you get.

Go on.

That's it. Go on.

Come on, lads.

Overseer: There's freedom in work, lads. Freedom in work.

Sooner you get this forest cut down, the sooner we can go home.

Great ships are built on the shoulders of you and l.

Great ships.

Mathers!

Got no tongue in your head today? Eh? Surely not.

Your man Mathers has found himself homesick this day

and mute it has made him.

Poor lad. He misses his Scottish homeland.

He'd rather be there than with the likes of you.

One...two...three.

If this one sinks, there'll be some fucking language.

Overseer: It was some meal I was treated to last night.

Soup, baked bread...

..mutton.

The likes I cannot recall since I left the homeland.

I was in no need of my good friend the potato.

But he poured forth.

I wish myself deaf.

He yaps more than a dog with three heads.

But I did manage to...

..smuggle a little something to...

There's not much, but...

Well, it'll go wonderfully with your bread there.

It's there if anyone wants it.

What are you smiling at now, Bodenham?

No law against smiling.

Not yet, young Thomas. Not yet.

Where's that mongrel sailor - Greenhill?

Greenhill, eh? Where is he?

Where is he? Eh?

You'll all feel the taste of it if he's not found this minute.

Arggh!

Greenhill: There's not a boat to be seen on the harbour. Now's our chance.

- Help! Help! - Shut him up!

You took your bleeding time. If I had to listen to one more word...

This is to remove your tongue if you make noise with it. Understand?

Take his clothes. Take his clothes!

Keep fucking still!

- Greenhill: Pass the coat. - Get off me!

Get off me!

Come on. Come on! Let's go!

Let's go!

Greenhill: Come on!

Where will you go? There's nothing out there.

No! No!

Fat...fucking...

Dalton: You hit him one more time...

..one more time, and I swear to fuck we leave you here with him!

Grab everything! Quickly!

Greenhill: There'll be supplies on the ship when we get there.

We make our move at dusk.

Dalton: Run!

Ah, Christ.

Come on.

What? Are they shooting each other?

Shh.

- We can't stay here. - CanÆt go back now.

I can't move

Quiet.

We head east.

If you don't want a noose around your neck, follow me.

Eight men in this dark wood. Far from God's eyes.

- I'm bleeding cold. - Be quiet.

I need a fire.

We can't, you nikey.

I need the warm!

- Punch that cunt, Mathers. - You fucking try it.

Ohh. The wee lad wants to be a little bit of a fighter, does he?

You're all talk, old man.

You're the one fucking talking. Why don't you just shut your mouth?

You'll be talking when you're left behind.

Oh, why don't you go to fucking sleep?

We're all fucking cold.

You alright?

Fine.

and yourself?

Enjoying the freedom.

- What are they saying? - I don't know.

Eh? You're fucking Irish.

Go to fucking sleep.

Do you trust that sailor Greenhill?

I don't trust you.

I didn't know she was your mother.

We only have flour and meat to last a few days.

We'll hunt.

Hunt what?

There's nothing out there.

Ghosts.

There's a distant scream inside of me.

It's not angry, it's just screaming.

Pearce.

Pearce.

Wake up.

Wake up, Pearce.

What?

Some soldiers last night? Any soldiers?

Soldiers?

Any soldiers last night?

Five or six.

Told them we were headed in the other direction.

Good. Come on.

Mathers: You might not see it in me,

but I'm quite the ladies' man in Hobart Town.

Dalton: Are you just?

When you consider the odds stacked against us.

Not one complaint, I'll have you know.

Dalton: Is that right?

I've found, in my time,

that rubbing the flesh above the hole

has a powerful effect on all women

and brings a strong wetness like an ocean.

Useless English bastard.

What did you fucking say?

You alright?

Bleeding Irish scum.

Cooee!

Quiet!

Where to now, Captain?

At least we'll never be far from the harbour.

Little Brown.

You right, Ned?

Is it cold?

Aye, it's fucking cold.

Bodenham: Little Brown! Swear to Christ!

Hey! You leave him be there!

I won't be hanged on the account of an old lag.

Swimming, is it, lads?

Are you coming in, William?

Look out, Dalton! There's a great big snake in front of you!

Don't you worry about this one!

It's the wee little fella back there that concerns me!

He may be small but his bite is dangerous.

Kennerly: In my fair opinion, lads,

this spring is even better than the last.

Dalton: That is the very truth itself, William Kennerly!

It is a fine spring!

And better than the last, eh, Pearce?

Aye, Mr Dalton,

and...even...better than the one before that!

Bodenham: You bog trotters are all mad.

Kennerly: Oh! Jesus' mother, Mary of God. Joseph.

All the heavenly host. Fuck the cunt of it.

Upon my soul, lads, what a beautiful day!

The sun is shining!

We have our liberty!

Ah! Christ, what a land this is!

Hey! Kennerly!

Free Ireland! Free Ireland!

Kennerly: I'm right behind you!

Dalton: Use your muscles, man! Use your muscles!

Kennerly: And the door would fling open,

and there she was, standing there

with her wee little dugs swinging back and forth like a...

Dalton: Don't say it.

Mathers: I've heard it too often and in too great a detail for it to be false.

No, it can't be.

What's so funny?

It's nothing.

So, every morning without fail,

she'd make me rub her cold legs

and she would sing to me softly

about the sea.

But, by God, wouldn't she fart on me when I was down there.

A case of the six o'clock farts would send my eyes burning.

You're standing there with this great big fucking arse.

Christ almighty!

Them were farts you could smell through your ears.

- What the hell are you talking about? - Women, lad.

If they didn't have cunts, you'd throw stones at them.

What?

Oh, we were just relating

as to what the two of you were doing in the bushes.

We were getting wood for the fire.

- Do you think it funny? - Aye.

It has humour.

One question, Robert.

Is it true that Travers here

was a ticket-of-leave man before you met?

I speak for myself.

So, Robert, is it true that Travers here was a ticket-of-leave man?

Travers: No.

I had no ticket of leave.

I heard you had land.

And sheep to tend.

Is that true?