Amazing Grace (2006)

[bunniefuu]

Go on. Go on, you lazy nag.

Stop a moment.

Go on.

Go on.

Wilber. Wilber, you're
not well enough.

For once, let it pass.

If you leave your horse alone
for an hour, he might recover.

And who the hell are you?

Hey.

I've seen him speak in London.
That's William Wilberforce.

- Now what?
- Leave it.

- Welcome home, sir.
- You're so late.

The mud stole half a day.

But Marianne, look. I
have a surprise for you.

- I hope a pleasant one.
- Wilber. Wilber, is that you?

Oh, it is, half of me. My idiotic

body is playing games
with me again.

- I promised we'd make him well.
- Eat something.

Breakfast, perhaps. Not too
early. I'm on holiday.

Isn't that right, cousin Henry?

Don't you talk to
each other? Haven't

you told him he's k*lling himself?

Now he's with us, he'll be fine.

What time is it?

This is your 3 a.m. dose.

So, cousin, you're waking me up to
give me medicine to help me sleep.

Ah. Now you're taking
on the medical

profession, as well
as everyone else.

Did you sleep?

Sleep is more exhausting
than being awake.

The laudanum will
sharpen your dreams.

It replays my life
to mock me and shows

me things I should
have done but didn't.

Wilber, Parliament
doesn't deserve you.

Your last bill was
defeated because

four of your loyal supporters

took free tickets to a comic opera
rather than stay to vote.

In my dreams, I turned
over their tables.

But you know the worst thing?
I can't sing any more.

You remember how
well I used to sing?

Marianne and I will find a
way to restore your voice.

The Romans believed this water
would restore the dead to life.

Most pump water I've investigated
works in the opposite direction.

So?

- What was so urgent?
- Did I say it was urgent?

Marianne, are you
expecting someone else?

Inside this building,
you will find

the secret of health
and happy life.

In a glass of water?

You may have noticed,

since I married Marianne, I
have been a picture of health.

- I'm very happy for you.
- It is almost a scientific fact.

Marriage and health are
twins. Inseparable.

Single men wither away and die in

rooms that smell of
feet and armpits.

Henry, what are you
babbling on about?

Love, Wilberforce. Come.
Come, we're late.

The water has been here a million
years. How can we be late?

- So, what shall we discuss next?
- I don't know.

The abolition of the sl*ve
trade. How about that?

Marianne, if I'd known you were so
starved of political conversation,

I'd have wrapped up a Tory and
sent him to your home by mail

for you to shout at.

Ah, now, look at that.

Here we are discussing the
abolition of the sl*ve trade

and in walks my husband with
William Wilberforce himself,

the most committed abolitionist
in England and also, of course,

the most unmarried.

Oh. Look over there.
It's Marianne.

And who's the charming-looking
woman with her?

- Marianne's here?
- Never mind about her.

Look at the woman she's
with. Barbara Spooner.

Very committed to very
many good causes.

And also entirely unmarried.

Marianne, you're outrageous.

I do not need you or anyone
else to find a wife for me.

Carriage. Carriage over here.

- I'll never forgive him.
- I'll never forgive her.

However, Mr Wilberforce, if we
had met in other circumstances,

I would have told you how deeply
I admire your tireless efforts

to force our ridiculous Parliament
to abolish the sl*ve trade.

If you had, I would
have changed the

subject and talked about botany.

Botany? Why botany?

Anything but politics. I'm in
Bath to be cured of politics.

Well, I would have
been bored by botany.

So, even in other circumstances,
it would have been a disaster.

- Good day to you.
- Good day to you.

Some simple truths about
this horrendous w*r

need to be restated for the
benefit of my honourable friends.

Simple fact. We have the rebels on

the anvil and a
hammer in our hands.

There is no question
that our m*llitary force

is far superior to
that of the Americans.

But we must distinguish
between force and justice.

Where did this
terrier spring from?

I believe he's a Yorkshire
terrier, My Lord.

Rather than able statesmen.

Surely it is time for the fat
fellow and his friends opposite

to make way for others who
consider the good of their country

of greater moment than their
own personal interests.

Doesn't he know what dangers await

anyone who talks
sense in this place?

Oh, I think he's equal
to the dangers.

My honourable friend suggests we
surrender to the revolutionaries.

Revolution is like a pox. It
spreads from person to person.

I bow to my honourable friend's
superior knowledge and experience

in all matters regarding the pox.

Why would we withdraw from America

when half of the Americans
are loyal to the Crown?

Less than one in four
Americans are loyal.

If he calls that half, I'd hate to

be his wife and
share half his bed.

Mr Foreign Secretary.

My honourable and young friend
should explain to the House

the difference between
appeasement and surrender.

Hear, hear.

The difference between
appeasement and

surrender is merely
a matter of time

and perhaps 10,000
more young lives

wasted for no reason.

Go on.

Two guineas.

Sweet Prospero, why
hast thou forsaken me?

Brave in the House, but
at the table a mouse.

Your Grace, you
know these merchant

boys are richer than we are.

Aye. I have ten guineas left.

So ten it is.

In or out, Wilberforce?

- A pencil and paper.
- No, no, no.

Brooks's Club house
rules. No IOUs.

Amongst gentlemen, perhaps, but
Wilberforce is a tradesman.

You gamble with what
you have with you.

Wilberforce, will you take my IOU?

We split the pot
and call it evens.

To hell with that.
Payment in kind.

There's nothing you have
I'd want, Your Grace.

Tarleton, fetch my n*gg*r.

My coach driver. Go and wake
him up and bring him in now.

I bought a n*gg*r
in Port of Spain.

He eats better than I do,
so he's strong as an ox.

He'd fetch at least 25 guineas
at the West India Dock.

The game is over.

What's wrong, Wilberforce?

If I hadn't brought
the boy to London,

he'd have been worked to
death in a sugar cane field.

I saved his miserable life. There.

I raise the stakes.

Wilberforce? In the game or out?

Evening.

You act as if you'd never
seen sl*very before.

For me it's like arsenic. Each new
tiny dose doubles the effect.

You're not afraid of Clarence.

Because he's the son of the king?

So, you want, "bloody
noses and cracked crowns"?

Shakespeare, Henry IV.

A play about England changing.

- As it will soon change.
- Only if we change it.

You don't believe you and
I could change things?

I would change myself first.

Do you remember,
Billy, at Cambridge

I had a reputation as
something of a singer?

I do remember.

So I think I'm going to
go and sing them a song.

Silence.

Silence.

You sound like a chorus
of bloody tomcats.

Now, let me introduce you to
somebody who does it properly.

I dedicate this song to
my honourable friend,

His Grace, the Duke of Clarence.

It was written by my old preacher.

He was captain of a sl*ve
ship for 20 years.

He repented his sins and
then he wrote this song.

♪ Amazing Grace ♪

♪ How sweet the sound ♪

Times are hard for
the militant boys.

♪ That saved a wretch ♪

♪ Like me ♪

♪ I once was lost ♪

♪ But now am found ♪

♪ Was blind ♪

♪ But now ♪

♪ I see ♪

Dear God, I know this
is utterly absurd,

but I feel I have to
meet you in secret.

Sorry to interrupt, sir. There
is a beggar at the kitchen door.

I would turn him away, sir, but
you insisted I always check.

Just give him breakfast.

Very good, sir.

- Richard?
- Sir?

I know that lying down on the wet
grass is not a normal thing to do.

None of my business, sir.

Truth is...

I've been even more strange
than usual lately, haven't I?

It's God.

I have 10,000 engagements
of state today,

but I would prefer to spend
the day getting a wet arse,

studying dandelions and marvelling
at bloody spiders' webs.

You've found God, sir?

I think he found me.

Do you have any idea how
inconvenient that is,

how idiotic it will sound?

I've a political career
glittering ahead of me

and in my heart I
want spiders' webs.

"It is a sad fate for a man to die
too well-known to everybody else

and still unknown to himself."

Francis Bacon.

I don't just dust your books, sir.

When I was 15, I almost
ran away with the circus.

They said I could
have been an acrobat.

- Good morning, Mr Pitt.
- Morning.

Excuse me, sir.

You read my letter.

The man who wrote that
letter was not you.

It was written by
some wild preacher

man that has gotten
into your head.

No.

- So did he reply?
- Who

God. You were going
to ask God whether

you should take up
politics or religion.

You're always too direct, Billy.

I urgently need to know where
your heart lies, Wilber.

- What's urgent?
- I...

I'm planning to become
prime minister.

- Some day.
- No, I mean soon. Very soon.

Thanks to your performances in the
House, Fox and North will resign.

Lord Rockingham will
become prime minister.

Lord Rockingham's
health is not good.

When he dies, I will make my move.

- You've worked it all out.
- I want you beside me, Wilber.

All the way.

You've read my letter but
not taken in a word.

I would have you in my government
in whichever capacity you choose.

Billy, no one of our age
has ever taken power.

Which is why we're
too young to realise

that certain things
are impossible.

So we will do them anyway.

I need an answer, Wilber.

Do you intend to use your
beautiful voice to praise the Lord

or change the world?

Here. Cut this, will you?

- I've got too much to do.
- You take care of them.

Any more flour?

- I can't.
- Put your elbow into it.

Marjorie, Mr Wilberforce
is on his way down.

Marjorie, I'm expecting
some people for dinner.

Marjorie? Marjorie?

She's been run off her feet, sir.

How so?

Well, take today, for example.
You have 25 guests for lunch.

Do I?

If you remember, you decided
to reward various volunteers

who worked for some quite
precariously financed charities.

Some brought deserving
children. Others

brought less deserving relatives.

I really should get
some sort of...

Diary, sir. Yes. Or more cooks.

Go on. Go on.

Is that the appetiser?

No, that's His Grace,
the Duke of Clarence.

Wilberforce, the
Reverend John Ramsay.

Reverend.

Edward Hope.

And Michael Shaw. Both friends.

- This is Olaudah Equiano.
- Mr Equiano. Please.

- You've travelled far to be here?
- No distance would be too great.

- And this is Hannah Moore.
- Mr Wilberforce.

Who has travelled all
the way from Clapham.

Finally, let me introduce
Mr Thomas Clarkson.

Beautiful house.
Sweet little rabbit.

It's a hare, actually.

Please.

So come on. Who are they?

Why don't you ask them?

Well, I hope the goose is
tender. She was rather old.

I find the older I get,
the more tender I become.

So, Miss Moore, you
live in Clapham.

I hear it's very tranquil there.

When certain issues are raised
amongst my friends and I,

it is anything but tranquil.

Ah. And, which issues are those?

Issues regarding the
making of a better world.

Better in which way?

If you make the
world better in one

way, it becomes
better in every way.

Don't you think?

Mr Equiano, what business
brings you to London?

My business in London
is you, Mr Wilberforce.

What? You wish to discuss
something with me?

No. We do not want to talk

because we hear that you are a man
who doesn't believe what he hears

until he sees it
with his own eyes.

These are for the legs.

These for the arms.

This is for the neck.

Works like so.

When the slaves leave
port in Africa,

they're locked into a space
four foot by 18 inches.

They have no sanitation, very
little food, stagnant water.

Their waste and blood
fills the holes

within three days and
is never emptied.

These irons and chains
are to keep them

from throwing
themselves overboard.

The chains are not
unlocked until you

reach the plantation in Jamaica.

Around half of the
slaves are dead already.

In the markets, they
stuff knotted rope

into the anuses of
those who are sick

to disguise the dysentery.

When you reach the plantation,
they put irons to the fire...

and do this.

To let you know that you no longer
belong to God, but to a man.

Mr Wilberforce, we understand
you're having problems

choosing whether to
do the work of God

or the work of a
political activist.

We humbly suggest
that you can do both.

You planned this.

I've seen the literature
you've been reading.

You've stooped to searching
through my desk?

Sir William Dolben
told me you'd asked

to be shown round the
East India Docks.

So, you would use
my private concerns

for your own political ends.

Yes, exactly that.

The principles of
Christianity lead

to action as well as meditation.

Allow me to meditate on it
before I decide on any action.

Just think about this, Wilber.

The sl*ve trade has 300
MPs in its pocket.

It would be just you against them.

But you could do it.

You would do it.

Oh, stop moaning.

Excuse me, sir.

Do you have a penny for a boy
that went to fight the Yanks

and came back half a man?

Hello, Mr Newton.
It's me, William.

Hello, John. How are you?

Hello, John. It's me, Wilber.

I'm here to seek your...

The beggar at the door assures
me that I'm now old enough

to call you John.

You're dressing very
simply these days.

I'm a simple man. I
try to pretend I am

a monk, but I don't
have the willpower.

I'm a monk Mondays, Wednesdays...

When I read your name in the
papers, doing these great things,

I still see a tiny boy
with his hair a mess

and ink on his fingers.

So, what do you want
with an old creature?

I'm here to seek your advice.

When you were a child, you
used to ask God for advice.

Then I grew up. And grew foolish.

And now?

Now... slowly, my
faith is returning.

How slowly?

No bolts of lightning.

God sometimes does his work with
gentle drizzle, not storms.

Drip... drip... drip.

My friend William Pitt has
declared an interest in me.

William who?

He's offering me a
place in the world.

Just make sure you're in the
world, not of the world.

There'd be no escape from
power once I have it.

I would have to see
things through.

Why wouldn't you?

Are you contemplating
a life of solitude?

Wilber, you have work to do.

Besides, people like you too much

to let you live a
life of solitude.

Haven't you chosen solitude?

You, of all people, should
know I can never be alone.

There now.

- There now what?
- You're the reason I came.

You told me that you live in
the company of 20,000 ghosts.

The ghosts of slaves.

I was explaining to a child

why a grown man cowers
in a dark corner.

I need you to tell me about them.

I'm not strong enough to
hear my own confession.

I thought time might
have changed you.

It has. I'm older.

Pitt has asked me to take
them on, the slavers.

I'm the last person you
should come to for advice.

I can't even say the
name of any of my ships

without being back on
board them in my head.

All I know is 20,000 slaves live
with me in this little church.

- There's still blood on my hands.
- Will you help me, John?

I can't help you.

But do it, Wilber. Do it.

Take them on. Blow their dirty,
filthy ships out of the water.

The planters, sugar barons,

Alderman "Sugar Cane", the
Lord Mayor of London.

Liverpool, Boston,
Bristol, New York.

All their streets running
with blood, dysentery, puke.

You won't come away from
those streets clean, Wilber.

You'll get filthy with
it, you'll dream it,

see it in broad daylight.

But do it. For God's sake.

Sir, I have Mr Thomas Clarkson.

Forgive me. Mr Wilberforce
was here a moment ago.

I'd better go and find him.

- Good afternoon.
- Sorry if I alarmed you.

I had this box made up in the
exact dimensions of a sl*ve berth.

I thought you could use it in
your practical demonstrations.

Why did you wait until
your butler had

left before you got
out of the box?

They all think I'm mad already.

As will most people in
the House of Commons

when I present my bill.

Wilberforce, conditions in Jamaica

are far more brutal than
I could have imagined.

Many children are scalded to
death by the molten lava.

Others die of exhaustion or roll
into the fires in their sleep.

The result in the morning is a few
pounds of pure, refined sugar.

Wilberforce, are you all right?

Sit up for me.

Here, drink this.

What happened?

I read James's
letter from Jamaica.

When I fell asleep, it was as
if I were living inside it.

Perhaps the laudanum the doctor
gave you is badly mixed.

I know the effects
of opium, Henry.

- This isn't the medication.
- What, then?

I was chosen for this
task and I failed.

Some part of me does not accept
the idea that I've given up.

- I'll dilute this.
- Can you dilute what I feel?

You've given your youth and
your health for this cause.

It's time to let someone else try.

So, Mr Wilberforce...

I understand you have
an interest in botany.

Botany, Miss Spooner?
Whatever gives you

the idea that I
might be interested

in something as tedious as botany?

Sorry. It's a private joke.

Now, Wilber, I know you're
not interested in botany,

but there's a fascinating creeping
ivy up the far end of the garden.

Barbara, you really
must go and see it too.

Go on.

To irritate them, let's
pretend to argue.

- What about?
- Something we disagree on.

Think of something.

The w*r in France.

I think we should settle
with Napoleon right now.

So do I. Schools.

I'm a member of your
movement for free education.

I agreed with every word you said
on the Dales factory debate.

You read every word?

- No.
- Neither did I.

Gin.

Replace it in the
cities with beer.

Absolutely.

I'm definitely alone in my
opinions about animals.

No. I joined your society for
the prevention of cruelty.

Well, I'm extreme.
I have a pet fox,

a pet rat and a crow
that can't fly.

I used to have a pet hare,
but it d*ed of kindness.

America.

We must reassess the power of the
collective political process.

Agreed.

Oh, and, of course, we
are agreed on sl*very.

I'm against flowers in church.
What do you say to that?

I am for them.

As am I.

I shouldn't talk about
the sl*ve trade?

I've spent so many years
talking about it.

So, what are a few more minutes?

When Mr Pitt first
became prime minister,

the two of you were
like meteorites

sh**ting through our imagination.

- Whose imaginations?
- Girls my age.

You stopped taking
sugar in your tea?

I wore an abolition badge
made by Josiah Wedgwood.

He was a good friend to us.

And I travelled 30 miles in the

rain to hear Thomas
Clarkson speak.

- Did he deafen you?
- He opened my eyes.

- I met the African.
- Equiano.

He came to town with
a hundred copies

of his book. They sold in an hour.

- You signed our petitions.
- A hundred times.

A hundred times.
Three million names,

a million candles to read them by.

- Must have been so exciting.
- Exciting?

It seemed that every spring
the daffodils came out,

every summer the cherries ripened

and every autumn
William Wilberforce

would present his
bill to the House.

- And still...
- And still...?

And still, after all the
badges, the petitions,

all the speeches and the bills,

ships full of human
souls in chains

sail around the world as cargo.

I'm sorry.

This is why I shouldn't
talk about it.

I think you should.

There. We've found
something we disagree on.

"Am I not a man whose
soul is drawn to heaven

like water from the
dark well of Africa?"

From Equiano's book.

He was a man like no other.

Please, tell me about him.

It seems to me

that if there is a bad taste in
your mouth, you spit it out.

You don't constantly
swallow it back.

Not long after I first met him,

he asked me to come to
the East India Dock.

He said there was a
ship I should see.

A ship he knew well.

Mr Equiano.

This way.

Thank you, sir.

- Hello.
- Sweetheart.

They make you lie in this space.

The shackles dislocate
your hip or your shoulder.

You are in pain all the
way around the world.

How long is the journey?

Three weeks, if the
weather is good.

For amusement, they sometimes
hang the women from these,

by the ankles, to r*pe them.

In stormy weather, they
take the very sickest

and throw them into the sea
to lighten the ship's load.

How did you survive?

Your life is a thread. It
breaks or it doesn't break.

Before I travelled
in a ship like this,

I was a prince, in many
ways not unlike you.

It was a beautiful
day like no other,

the last day I saw
my home in Africa.

It is with a heavy heart

that I bring to the
attention of this House

a trade which degrades men
to the level of brutes

and insults the highest
qualities of our common nature.

I am speaking of...
the sl*ve trade.

I know that many of my
honourable friends in this House

have interests in the Indies.

Others have investments in

plantations. Others
are ship owners.

And I believe them to
be men of humanity.

I believe you all to
be men of humanity.

If the wretchedness of any one

of the many hundreds of
slaves stowed in their ships

could be brought to view...

Order. Order.

I can hardly believe my ears.

We can hardly believe your mouth.

It seems my young friend opposite
has a long-term strategy

to destroy the very
nation that spawned him.

While I was in Virginia losing my

fingers in battle
with the Americans,

he was busy appeasing them.

Now he would hand
over the riches of

the Indies to the bloody French.

If... If we didn't have slaves,
there would be no plantations.

And with no plantations, how would
we fill the coffers of the king?

Does my honourable friend

really believe that if
we left off the trade,

the French wouldn't
immediately step

into our place and
reap the rewards?

All this food. There's only a
handful of people in there.

He's an optimist.
Completely incurable.

Our defeat in the House
today was not unexpected.

But our intention was to
flush out the opposition

and discover how many
people would support us.

Yes, well, we certainly found
out who our friends are.

All 16 of them.

I sent a note of thanks to
everyone who voted for us.

How sweet of you.

Some of us know how to
take defeat graciously.

Something to with with breeding?

On this occasion, it probably is.

Everything that is
said at this meeting

is being taken down
for our records.

My friend James Stephen has
agreed to be our secretary.

You were saying?

As you can see, not many MPs have
responded to our invitation.

Indeed, outside my
own family, there

is only one: Sir William Dolben.

Sir William, what brings
you to this gathering?

I recently took passage from
Sierra Leone aboard a sl*ve ship.

What I saw during those 15 days...

But I believe there
are plenty of others

in the House who
share your feelings.

- They're just afraid to show it.
- Shame on them.

No shame. No shame. Were I the
representative of a port city,

how could I tell those
whom I represent

that I'm voting to end
their livelihood?

Exactly so.

How can human beings be commerce?

It's exactly this
pursuit of lofty...

Nothing lofty about
simple humanity.

Please.

Perhaps we should begin this
journey with the first step.

We are talking about the truth.

So we should hand
it out to people.

Drop it from church roofs.

Paint pictures of it. Write songs

about it. Make bloody
pies out of it.

Go on.

There is a sl*ve ship
at dock in Tilbury

with twice the sl*ve
berths it is insured for.

I know that for a fact.
But how do we prove it?

Wilber.

- Dear God.
- Well, almost.

I've spent 18 months
being torn apart

by you in the House,
Mr Wilberforce.

I thought I'd find out what it
feels like to be on your side.

I see you've got plenty of
food. Any of you saints drink?

Well, this one bloody does.

Thank you very much.

Not fair. Not fair.

I'm not well. My belly.

What's wrong with your belly?

Oh.

Besides, you're prime minister.

It is my ministerial
duty to let you win.

So, what will we do with Fox?

- Put him in a box?
- Let him throw the heavy rocks.

- Provide the shocks.
- Put Lord Tarleton in the stocks.

Oh.

Oh, if the House of Lords could
hear the idiotic way we carry on,

they'd ban anyone
under the age of 30

from holding high
office ever again.

Well, at least with
Fox on board, the

world will know we mean business.

The world doesn't know yet.

Nor will it, not
until we're ready.

You were born for this, Wilber.

Sometimes I get giddy.

Why is it you only feel the thorns

in your feet when
you stop running?

Is that some sort of heavy-handed

metaphorical advice
for me, Mr Pitt?

Yes, I suppose it is.

We must keep going,
keep going fast.

Thank you very much.

Gentlemen, would you stop the
music, please? Thank you.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I hope you have

enjoyed our little
tour of the estuary.

But now our sojourn is almost
over, I have a confession to make.

This trip wasn't purely
arranged to reward those MPs

who have supported me in the past
year, nor am I the only sponsor.

- What's he doing?
- Ladies and gentleman,

this is a sl*ve ship.
The Madagascar.

It has just returned
from the Indies

where it delivered 200 men,
women and children to Jamaica.

When it left Africa,
there were 600 on board.

The rest d*ed of
disease or despair.

That smell is the smell of death.

Slow, painful death.

Breathe it in. Breathe it deeply.

Take those handkerchiefs
away from your noses.

There, now.

Remember that smell.

Remember the Madagascar.

Remember that God made men equal.

All that winter, we spread
out across the country

gathering evidence for Parliament.

Thomas rode to Bristol,
Liverpool, Plymouth,

talking to men who'd
worked the sl*ve ships,

ships' doctors who'd treated them,

slaves themselves who'd
been whipped and branded.

Equiano published his account
of his years as a sl*ve.

He sold 50,000 copies
in two months.

Spare a coin, sir?

Our supporters began
to only buy sugar

produced without slaves in India.

Or they stopped using
sugar altogether.

It seemed our message
was everywhere.

At least now there
was hope. Real hope.

We had a year to collect
enough evidence

to convince Parliament
of our case.

The planters and the ship owners
began to spread rumours about us.

They called us seditious, secretly

working to bring
down the government.

Clarkson sat in a
coach to Birmingham

and overheard someone
claim that I'd

secretly married a sl*ve woman.

But the weight of our hope made
it all seem like glorious infamy.

How long have you
been taking laudanum?

I recognise its presence.

My illness and my crusade were
born around the same time.

What is your illness?

The doctors tell me
it's called colitis.

They don't really
understand it, but I do.

You see, sometimes my stomach

gets bored of being a stomach and
decides it's a sailing ship.

Then my heart gets jealous and
decides it wants to be a see-saw.

And before you know it, my lungs
are arguing with one another

whether to be lungs or
sponges full of seawater.

Well, at least that's what I
tell my nieces and nephews.

Marianne tells me
you like children.

My poor father almost went mad

when I told him I'd stopped
taking sugar in my tea.

I was 14,

reading your name in the
papers, willing you to win.

I told my friends there was actual

sl*ve blood in every
lump of sugar.

Has this been so
painful to talk about?

It's only painful to talk about

because we haven't
changed anything.

But, unlike the slaves, I
have opium for my pain.

Begging your pardon, sir.

I thought everyone was in bed.

She brings the breakfasts.
What time is it?

Does it matter?

That year we should have won.

With the evidence we
had collected, by

natural justice we
should have won.

Winds blow ships from Africa
to the Indies naturally,

as if the route were
blessed by God.

Another argument in
defence of the trade

is that the Newfoundland fishing
industry is kept afloat

by the fact that slaves
in the West Indies

consume that part of the fish

which is fit for no
other consumption.

I do feel that if my
honourable friend

continues to scrape the bottom
of the barrel for objections,

he is in danger of getting
splinters under his fingernails.

Now, if I may continue
with my argument...

As representative of the
great and flourishing

commercial town of Liverpool,

I must once again remind the
House that we have no evidence

that the Africans themselves
have any objection to the trade.

I have here an account written
by a... Mr Clutterbuck...

which states that most
slaves in the Indies

have a snug little garden with
plenty of pigs and poultry.

There are many poor families in
Liverpool who do not have as much.

Which... Which is why,

apart from a few mendicant

physicians and
itinerant clergymen,

the ordinary people of Britain
are not at all exercised

by the whole issue of sl*very.

My honourable friend, the
member for Liverpool,

seeks evidence of
people's concern.

In the past year, I and my
itinerant clergymen friends

have been gathering
just such evidence.

We have taken a
petition calling for

the abolition of the sl*ve trade

to all the great cities
of this country.

It has been signed by
over 390,000 people.

However, this petition
is not yet complete.

There is one more person who
wishes to add his name.

Do something.

Mr Speaker, I humbly
request a suspension

while we take time to examine the
signatures on this document.

There is something very provoking

in the calm way my honourable
friend seeks delay.

Mr Speaker, will he not give way?

Is the desolation of
Africa suspended?

- Please, gentlemen.
- Is the work of death suspended?

You bring petitions
into the House...

Mr Speaker...

as if this country should be
governed by the rule of the mob,

- rather than its natural rulers.
- Order.

That roll of paper
reeks of rebellion.

No matter how loud
you shout, you will

not drown out the
voice of the people.

The people?

This session will be suspended
while the petition is examined.

Wilber.

My spies tell me that
Tarleton and Coconut Clarence

have gone to see the
Home Secretary.

What would they want
with Lord Dundas?

He's one of ours, isn't he?

James. James.

- Where does Lord Dundas stand?
- Probable, I think.

We have him down as a probable.

Last year he stopped
the deportation

of a Jamaican sl*ve from Scotland,

so his heart's in the right place.

Be wary of Dundas.

If he's capable of compassion
once, why not twice?

What damage could he
do if he's turned?

He controls the
Scottish vote, 34 MPs.

We'll have to have faith
in his integrity.

Integrity?

Where are you going?

To look up the word "integrity"
in Dr Johnson's Dictionary.

Come.

Prime Minister, Lord
Charles Fox to see you.

You look more at home when
doing something devious.

Prime Minister, your
friend Wilberforce

doesn't play cards any more.

No. He resigned from all five
card clubs when he saw the light.

Pity. He was good.

Well, I think there's a hand
you should play for him.

- Against whom?
- Someone who stands in his way.

So name him.

Good evening.

Billy, did I not win enough money
from you on Saturday evening?

Really, I have no
time for cards. I

have urgent business in the House.

As prime minister,
idle gossip collects

around you like scum
in slack water.

What have you heard?

Lord Tarleton's throwing
East India Company money

at people who are speaking
against abolition tonight.

Of course, no true friend of
mine would accept such an offer.

I appear to have three jacks.

I've always ensured that you have
been dealt a favourable hand.

Are you threatening me?

You are threatening
our friendship.

It isn't money that has made me
decide to oppose Wilberforce.

His enemy is my enemy.

You are sleepwalking hand-in-hand
with a bloody rebel.

Wilberforce follows no leader
but the preacher in his head.

How much were you offered?

Keep your jacks.

The planters still
have the king, and

I, at least, am
still loyal to him.

Don't force me to put a
p*stol to your head.

Well, if you do, there
will be two pistols,

one from each side.

And perhaps if I duck,
you'll sh**t each other.

Order.

Order.

First, let me be clear.

After long consideration
and much consultation,

I am in favour of the
abolition of the sl*ve trade.

There's no doubt in my mind
that this trade in human beings

is an almighty calumny and is
a disgrace to this nation.

However... I also take the
point of my honourable friend,

the member for Liverpool.

If we were to outlaw
the trade tomorrow,

it would bring financial disaster

to many cities and
industries in this country.

I therefore suggest a
period of reflection.

After a year and a half of
privy council investigations,

what good would it do to
delay the inevitable?

Inevitable? Is my
honourable friend

counting the votes
before they are cast?

I didn't mean that.

If the trade were to be abolished,
I suggest that we do so gradually.

Violent storms sink ships.

This great ship of
state must not be sunk

by a wave of good intentions.

They are cleverer than us, Thomas.

And yet...

outside the House of Commons,
the mood is with us.

And what good is that?

I have friends in France.

Our counterparts. Men of
principle, like you and I.

- They bring me only good news.
- News of what?

Revolution.

They're certain it's coming.

In Paris they speak openly in
the streets of emancipation.

Freedom for all
men, and women too.

The Americans pulled the cork
out of the bottle, Wilberforce.

Now the French share the wine.

You talk about revolution
as if it were a safe thing.

It's just a word.

Every day we change things, by
degrees. Education, factories.

By degrees. You sound
like Dundas. Gradually.

An imperfect order's
better than no order.

We must fight for a perfect order.

I've pledged an
allegiance to the king.

You know as well as I
do... the king is insane.

He shakes hands with oak trees

and claims he can see Germany
through his telescope.

I know you have your
loyalties, Wilberforce,

but underneath it you're
more radical than any of us.

You see, you never
doubt you're right.

What we say of the sl*ve is true
of the worker in the field,

the weaver, the miner.

Shouldn't they be
free to prosper too,

instead of the fruits of their

labours going to
men like Tarleton?

Men who spend their money
on whores and comic operas.

Young girls debauched.

Soldiers forced to beg.

It's a natural wave
that's flowing, Wilber.

First Boston, then Paris.

Next London.

Thomas...

you must never speak of revolution
in my presence ever again.

I'm going to Paris
to see for myself.

Why don't you come with me?

Drink some of that wine?

Africa, your sufferings
have been a theme

that has engaged and
arrested my heart.

Your sufferings...

no tongue can express,
no language impart.

God has set before me
two great objects:

The suppression of the sl*ve trade

and the reformation of society.

Sir.

Marjorie.

The trouble is, Doctor, he
doesn't believe he has a body.

Utterly careless of it. He...

He thinks he's a
disembodied spirit.

Perhaps you should spend
some time away from London.

- What's this?
- Laudanum, for the pain.

An opiate? No, no, no.
I need my mind sharp.

You need to rest.

My bill is before the
House in three weeks.

Would you leave us
a moment, Doctor?

Yes, Prime Minister.

It's now five years
since you first

brought this bill to the House.

And each time we get
a little closer.

Wilberforce, there are other MPs
who could carry the debate.

Who? Name one.

The only man I would trust is you.

Well?

I can't be seen to
openly oppose the king

when the streets of
Paris run with blood.

You've read too many lurid
newspaper articles.

The French Republic plans to
declare w*r within the year.

- On who?
- On who?

You're locked inside
your own head. Us,

Great Britain,
everything we stand for.

Considering the situation, you
mix with the wrong people.

- Who do I mix with?
- Clarkson, for one.

- Who introduced me to Clarkson?
- In different times.

They say in the cafés that
Clarkson's a French spy.

And Equiano, they say he
was born in Carolina,

and as an American, therefore
must be a revolutionary.

Others say they've seen
with their own eyes

letters addressed to you
from Thomas Jefferson.

- On matters to do with abolition.
- w*r changes everything.

- Even friendships?
- Especially those.

So you will keep your
precious conscience intact

and let the rest of us
do the w*r's dirty work.

Conscience is indeed precious.

I am warning you as
your prime minister

that when w*r comes, opposition
will soon be called sedition.

By who?

By you?

This evening I would like to
return to the theme of abolition.

In these dangerous
times, it is easy to

put aside our concerns
for those in need

simply to confirm our
loyalty to the nation.

But the issues of
w*r and the issues

of sl*very must not be confused.

Our fear of an unknown
enemy must not be allowed

to erode our
long-cherished liberties.

If this is to happen, how
bitter will our history be?

We must not prohibit all political
discussion of political subjects.

The issue of sl*very is not
made any less important

by the unrelated issues of w*r.

In w*r or in peace, the buying
and selling of human beings

is equally abhorrent.

This is not a seditious statement.

Where is your laudanum?
I'll prepare it for you.

No. No, I want to
tell you how it ends.

I already know. Your bills
were easily defeated.

Equiano... d*ed in his bed.

Thomas Clarkson found a cottage
in the hills to hide away in.

Charles Fox watched and waited.

The Quakers still sent their
letters. No one replied.

Is that the end of your story?

- You think not?
- No.

- Why not?
- Because after night comes day.

The people aren't so afraid now
the w*r with France is being won.

And when they stop being afraid,
they rediscover their compassion.

So the people have
their compassion back.

And you still have passion.

That matters more.

- Good morning, Wilber.
- Morning.

- Get much sleep?
- Not much.

- What time did Barbara leave?
- Late.

I mean, early.

I'm afraid I'm going
back to London.

- So soon?
- Yes.

I think the waters worked
their magic on me.

But I need to send a
letter to James Stephen.

To ask him to come
back to England.

For what reason?

To put his evidence before
a select committee.

Also, Barbara and
I have discovered

that we're both impatient and
prone to rash decisions.

But she wants to tell
you about it herself.

Ladies and gentlemen,
before we begin,

we will sing the hymn
requested by the bride.

♪ Amazing Grace ♪

♪ How sweet the sound ♪

♪ That saved a wretch like me ♪

♪ I once was lost ♪

♪ But now am found ♪

♪ Was blind but now I see ♪

- Delightful service.
- Thank you so much for coming.

Thank you. How are you
coping with the new kitchen?

"Great changes are
easier than small ones."

- Francis Bacon.
- Well done.

- Have you forgiven us yet?
- Never.

It'll be wonderful to have
you both living so near.

Thank you.

I do hope you didn't come to
Clapham for the tranquillity.

- We're very noisy neighbours.
- I'm counting on it.

Barbara.

- You have my deepest condolences.
- Thank you so much.

But please, I beg
of you, do this for

me. Make him eat some of his pets.

Oh, I rather like them.

I like them too. In brandy sauce.

- If you'll excuse me...
- There's no need, Barbara.

You're discussing
politics with your eyes.

You may as well do
it with your mouths.

I, didn't think you'd invite me.

Didn't think you'd come.

- You well?
- My mind's well.

The rest of me is
fraying at the edges.

Billy, I'm going to try again.

Well?

It's your wedding day. I agree
with everything you say.

I never changed.

- I don't change.
- Well, hurrah for you.

The mood may even be swinging
back in your favour.

How can we live in
houses like this

when others are living in boxes?

Is that still sedition?

As your prime minister,
I urge caution.

- And as my friend?
- Oh, to hell with caution.

When the slaves are
flogged on the wharfs,

their arms are tied
to a hook on a crane

and weights of 56 pounds

applied to their feet.

The crane is raised

so that their feet
barely touch the ground.

The slaves are then whipped

with ebony bushes, comma...

to let out the congealing blood.

I don't hear the nib
scratching the page.

We have company, sir.

John, it's me, Wilber.

Leave it.

They only told me your
sight was fading.

Well, now it's faded altogether.

I never did things by halves.
God decided I'd seen enough.

- So it's true.
- What's true?

- You're writing your account.
- Huh.

I wish I could see your face.

- How are you looking?
- The same.

- Still too thin.
- A little fatter lately.

She feeds you well then,
this wife of yours?

- She's given me an appetite.
- An appetite to change things?

This is my confession.

You must use it.

Names, ships' records,

ports, people.

Everything I remember is in here.

Although my memory is fading,

I remember two
things very clearly:

I'm a great sinner and
Christ is a great saviour.

You must publish it.

Blow a hole in their boat
with it. Damn them with it.

I wish I could remember
all their names.

My 20,000 ghosts,

they all had names.

Beautiful African names.

We called them with just grunts.

Noises.

We were apes. They were human.

I'm weeping.

I couldn't weep till I wrote this.

"I once was blind, but now I see."

Didn't I write that too?

Yes, you did.

Well, now at last it's true.

Now go, Wilber. Go.

We have lots of work
to do, you and I.

"Strange treasures in
this fair world appear,

strange all and new to me."

That is a poem by Thomas Traherne,

and I have absolutely no
idea what it's about.

But when I was small, I was
made to learn it by heart,

so I don't see why you
shouldn't suffer too.

Clarkson. Clarkson.

Good God, he's got his voice back.

We need you back in
London straight away.

Oh.

Bollocks.

Hurry up, come on.

Wilber.

- You look fine. Fine.
- I look wet and feeble.

You, however, look
disgustingly like

a lusty adventurer
from a storybook.

Come on. I've got a
coach. The others

are waiting for us at Palace Yard.

- Don't I get to wash or sleep?
- Sleep?

You haven't changed
at all, William.

I called this meeting to welcome

back James Stephen
from the Indies.

But he should speak for himself.

I have here diagrams,

first-hand accounts and
transcripts of trials

where innocent Africans have been

convicted of crimes
they did not commit

and were then burnt alive.

There are pages and
pages and pages

of first-hand accounts and
figures and statistics.

On every island now,
there are rebellions.

Haiti is in the hands of slaves.

And the slaves are
anxious. They're

impatient for their freedom.

They hear about your work here.

I saw a woman and her
child being beaten...

in a coffee field.

Afterwards, I heard the
woman tell her daughter

that someone was coming
across the sea to save them.

She said it was King Wilberforce.

So this time, gentlemen,
we must not fail them.

What is it, James?

- This is not a game for them.
- We know that.

What I mean is, it's not enough.

If we go to Parliament
with this evidence,

there'll be sympathy,
there'll be concern,

but it'll be just the
same as every other time.

Have you come back to
preach hopelessness?

No. No, I've had an idea.

In my law books I might have
stumbled across something

and I want to propose
it as a strategy.

Nosus Decipio.

It's Latin.

Loosely translated, it means...

"we cheat".

Oh, God.

I don't care how
important this is.

I'll finish my sh*t.

Oh, for God's sakes, what is it?

- We've decided...
- We think...

We've decided not to bring
forward an abolition bill.

- No?
- Indeed not.

We're going to address
the issue of the

use of neutral flags
on cargo ships.

- How unutterably dull.
- Exactly.

We're going to suggest
that French cargo ships

sailing under the American
flag of convenience

be liable to seizure
by privateers.

Part of the w*r effort.

Patriotism, all that.

Since when have you
been interested in

the w*r effort,
patriotism and all that?

I'm not.

So... I'll continue with my game?

You don't see anything
sinister in that measure?

No.

Then neither will they.

What the hell are
you talking about?

80 percent of all sl*ve
ships sailing to the Indies

are flying the neutral
American flag

to prevent them from being
boarded by privateers.

If we pass a law removing
that protection,

no ship owner will allow his
vessel to make the journey.

This will only apply to
French ships, not British.

That's the beauty of it.

Once any ship raises
the American flag,

by law it is neither
French nor British.

So our sl*ve ships will be just as
liable to seizure as French ones.

The privateers won't care
whose booty they're taking,

as long as they're
operating within the law.

Without the protection
of neutral flags,

80 percent of the British sl*ve
trade will be finished overnight.

Dear God.

But Prime Minister, we need to...

tuck this bill away somewhere.

Disguise it. Oh.

I won't even get on
my feet in the House.

This would still fall
short of abolition.

With their profits cut, half the

slavers will be
bankrupt in two years.

Then we'll pick off their MPs
in the House one by one.

Whose idea was this?

A lawyer.

Anti-French bill which
is also anti-sl*very.

Don't know why I didn't
think of this any sooner.

Oh...

But we can't let anyone know
that we're behind this.

Instruct someone to put this bill
forward who's seen as a patriot.

We don't want any fuss.

We just need someone
really, really... boring.

Typically, a French ship
will change its registration

to raise the American
flag and pick

up a cargo of sugar in Havana.

It will then sail to Carolina

or Virginia or Florida

or New York City or even Boston.

The cargo will then be
unloaded onto a second ship

carrying the American flag
and set sail for France.

As things stand, neither the Royal
Navy nor licenced privateers

have power to seize such a ship.

My proposition is

that all the ships
flying the American flag

be liable to search and seizure

to put an end to this
lamentable deceit

on the part of the French

and their Dutch and
Spanish allies.

Mr Speaker. I believe
the abolitionists

are coming at us at a side wind.

A side wind? What
kind of side wind?

I'm not sure what
kind of side wind. I

just know there's
something going on.

- The Jacobites are in.
- The Jacobites?

Really, I do think you
might update your

invective to reflect
changing times.

Am I too late to call
for an adjournment?

Of course you are.

Now, will you let the
honourable gentleman proceed?

As I was saying...

my proposition is that all
ships flying the American flag

be liable to search and seizure to

put an end to this
lamentable deceit

on the part of the French,
Dutch and Spanish.

- Jackson, get into the chamber.
- Right, sir.

Camber, chamber. Move your arse.

- What's going on?
- Just do it.

Where the hell is everyone?

Everybody's at the races in Epsom.
They were given free tickets.

I saved one for you. A free
gift from William Wilberforce.

Wilby?

What on earth is happening?
The poor maids are terrified.

- I'll bring your laudanum.
- No. No.

I've poured it all away
this morning. Every drop.

- Then I'll fetch more.
- No. I'm finished with it.

I can't even feel the
joy of this victory.

This new baby will
find me as myself.

- What will be his name?
- Who says it's a boy?

Just tell me some names.
Please, just keep talking.

William, if it's a boy.
Emma, if it's a girl.

It's a boy. I'm sure of it.

- How will he look?
- Sweet.

He will be strong with curly
hair, but dark, like yours.

- He's inside you now.
- Yes, yes, he's inside.

I can almost hear him.
He's singing to us.

Yes, he will have a
fine voice like you.

Yes, yes, a strong voice.

And you will play with him
in the garden every morning.

Yes.

And soon we'll have
a girl and a boy.

And a girl and a boy and...

Wilby.

Come quickly.

Come on.

Please leave us now.

They tell me you're
improving, Billy.

Bull.

We cracked crowns, didn't we?

We left the heads intact.

Because we're so
pathetically English.

- We have agreed on a succession.
- You're not gone yet.

I will be replaced by Lord
Granville as prime minister,

and the foreign secretary
will be Charles Fox.

And Wilber,

Fox has already secured a
guarantee from the palace.

They will remain neutral in
the issue of the sl*ve trade.

Next time you will be
pushing at an open door.

I'm scared, Wilber.

Of what?

At this moment, I wish
I had your faith.

No more excuses now, Wilber.

Finish them off.

As you know, Equiano,
I rarely drink.

But today's an exception.

Today we're drinking to victory.

Wish you were...

here to see all this... unfolding.

Just one more push.

One more.

I say to this House that
there is now no reason

why my bill should not be
commended to the king.

And I urge my honourable friends
to vote once and for all

for the abolition
of the sl*ve trade

throughout His Majesty's empire.

They're taking the vote.

Here's the tally.

Order.

Order.

On the Home and Foreign
sl*ve Trade Act,

the unamended bill calling for
the abolition of the sl*ve trade

throughout the entire
British Empire.

No's to the left: 16.

Ayes to the right: 283.

I declare the bill of abolition
of the sl*ve trade to be passed.

Noblesse oblige.

What the bloody hell
does that mean?

It means my nobility obliges me

to recognise the virtue of
an exceptional commoner.

Order.

Order.

When people speak of great men,

they think of men like Napoleon.

Men of v*olence.

Rarely do they think
of peaceful men.

But contrast the reception
they'll receive

when they return home
from their battles.

Napoleon will arrive
in pomp and in power.

A man who's achieved the very
summit of earthly ambition.

Yet his dreams will be haunted
by the oppressions of w*r.

William Wilberforce, however,

will return to his family,

lay his head on his pillow

and remember

the sl*ve trade is no more.