To this hour they say there that I--bloodthirsty, coward dog that I am--flogged a sailor, one Mungo Maxwell, to death.

It's a lie, by Heaven! I flogged him, for he was a mutinous scamp.

But he died naturally, some time afterwards, and on board another ship.

But why talk?
They didn't believe the affidavits of others taken before London courts, triumphantly acquitting me; how then will they credit _my_ interested words?
If slander, however much a lie, once gets hold of a man, it will stick closer than fair fame, as black pitch sticks closer than white cream.

But let 'em slander.