These ballads are not in the books and are supplementary and created by AI based on the book content.
In the days of yore, in eighteen ninety-nine,
On the Rustington ship, beneath the moon's soft shine,
George McGough and John Dwyer sailed the open sea,
Bound for Santos port, where fate's twist they could not foresee.
From Cardiff's shore, with coals in their hold,
Two souls aboard, their stories yet untold,
But George was drunk, with a fiery desire,
For a brawl, a fight, to stoke the evening's fire.
They'd been ashore and returned to the deck,
Between nine and ten, under night's dark speck,
Assembled with men, their comrades in tow,
George, intoxicated, with a dangerous glow.
He challenged them all, with a quarrelsome might,
But John Dwyer pleaded, "Below, it's not right."
Yet George, in his stupor, with no reason or care,
Seized John by the legs, a fate they'd both share.
A butt to the stomach, a push and a throw,
Over the hatchway, to the depths below,
A fall twenty feet, a terrible sound,
As John lay there bleeding, life's thread unbound.
From ears, nose, and mouth, the blood freely flowed,
In moments, he perished, life's candle was bowed,
George McGough, when told what his fury had done,
Said, "Like a man, I'll face what's to come, every one."
In irons, he languished, the ship's course did steer,
To Southampton's shores, where justice drew near,
On March tenth, in the year nineteen hundred, they'd land,
And George McGough, a prisoner, was handed to the land.
A witness did see, that grim, fatal fight,
John Dwyer's brave struggle in the cold, dark night,
They tumbled and fell, but George rose first, they say,
With his back to the hatchway, sealing John's fate that day.
But George offered help, to fetch a kind doctor's aid,
Yet it was too late, John's life had already frayed,
Some argued 'twas an accident, the hatchway's cruel role,
That led to this tragedy, claiming George's soul.
In the end, the judge weighed the facts with great care,
George's good character, his intentions laid bare,
Fifteen months with hard labor, the sentence was cast,
For the death of John Dwyer, a fate from the past.
George McGough, his fate sealed, served his time,
In a world that was harsh, with no reason or rhyme,
And as years rolled on, and the memories did fade,
He walked through life's shadows, his dues had been paid.
They say he went on to face the Titanic's dark tide,
When it sank beneath the waves, on that fateful April ride,
Somehow, he survived, in a lifeboat he'd row,
Through the icy waters, where many met their woe.
So ends this tale of a nightmarish twist,
Of George McGough's journey, a story once missed,
In the annals of time, these events now lie,
A murder ballad of old, where two souls did vie.