MARBLEHEAD — A lie might be harder to wash away than the rocks of Marblehead.

Exactly 200 years ago this month a slander was spread about Marblehead Capt. Benjamin Ireson, a distortion nourished by anger and sorrow, passed from person to person and 50 years later, published in still-remembered verse by John Greenleaf Whittier.

Ireson was charged with violating the law of the sea, abandoning another ship and crew to the deep. Thus, he was set on by the raging women of Marblehead, newly made widows and orphans, who tarred and feathered him, a punishment meant to cause pain, disfigurement and humiliation.

"The whole thing was too bad," says historian Bette Hunt. The truth was not what it seemed. And, ironically, 200 years later Marbleheaders still work to restore Ireson's name.

Returning from the Grand Banks in September 1808, in the midst of a howling gale, Ireson encountered the Active, smashed and taking on water. The skipper intended to help, says Hunt, but his crew objected, asking, "Should they come home with a full catch or should they try to rescue the other vessel and endanger themselves?"

Ireson allowed a vote. The crew elected to seek safety. Yet, once the wind and danger died down, says Hunt, "They had second thoughts." Further, to hide their own culpability, they "decided" suddenly that it was Ireson alone who had left the Active to her fate.

"He was accused of being cowardly," recalls another Marblehead historian, Fred Goddard. That word was spread all over town.

In some versions of the story, the Active is a Marblehead vessel, explaining why women went mad with grief, attacking Ireson. "There's a strong union among people who make their living on the sea," explains Hunt. "It is a cruel taskmaster."

"Ireson was completely dignified the whole time," Goddard says. They threw him into a dory and dragged him toward Salem. When the boat fell to pieces they moved him to a cart.

"You will live to regret this," Ireson told them simply.

Salem selectmen met the mob, declaring they did not want the tainted seaman in their town.

Whittier heard the story years later after romancing a Marblehead girl, says Goddard. His poem "Skipper Ireson's Ride" holds the captain fully responsible, calling him "Floyd," confusing his nickname Flood Ireson.

"Small pity for him! — He sailed away/From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay,/Sailed away from a sinking wreck,/With his own town's-people on her deck!"

Samuel Roads' 1879 "History of Marblehead" attempts to set the record straight, clearing Ireson. He gets help from Whittier, who by then knew the truth. "I am glad for the sake of truth and justice that the real facts are given in thy book," wrote the poet.

Yet, once discarded, the truth can be difficult to relocate. One version of Ireson's story prefigures Joseph Conrad's "Lord Jim" — the stricken Active, like an accusing angel, surviving and joining the Betsy in port.

Charles M. Skinner's 1896 book "Myths and Legends of our Own Land" offers a suggestion that Ireson's harshest judge may have been Ireson, gnawed at by the vision of the Active and its desperate crew, abandoned, fading into the mist and surf.

"(Ireson) did not seem to think it worth the attempt to clear himself," wrote Skinner. Setting out in a small boat, "He died after a severe freezing, having been blown to sea — as some think by his own will."