John suffered a severe illness at the age of 27 which left him in considerable pain and with profound lameness for the rest of his life. As a result he was unable to pursue the usual country sports, so yachting served him well
He died in 1886 and his brother Hugh then became the squire of Woolverstone Park.
The following is a transcript from the West Gippsland (Victoria, Australia) Gazette dated Tuesday 7 May 1912:
VETERAN YACHTSMAN - SIXTY-SIX YEARS'EXPERIENCE.
Woolverstone Park is one of the ancestral glories of the county ofSuffolk. The Berners family, whose chronological tree had its root, it is believed,in the stirring times of Edward III., maintain the best traditions of the partthey have played in developing the resources of the country. The fine estate,with its four mile frontage to the River Orwell, is rich in folk-lore. What canbe seen of it from the deck of a yacht or one of the passenger steamers thatply between Harwich and Ipswich inspires a degree of mystery. The banks arefringed with a thick border of trees, and here and there rises a church spire,or the tall brick chimney of a substantial house. Miniature bays relieve the marshyriver line from monotony. A stranded yawl, a leisurely scoop, and a crawlinglugger will invariably be seen on a trip between the ports just mentioned, butno one fails to be impressed with the round, tower-shaped house that standsalmost on the edge of the south side of the Orwell, within a mile of Pin Mill.
One cannot help speculating as to why the singular-looking place was erectedso near to the water. It could not have been originally designed for thepurpose of a lodge or a keeper's house, and it is too artistic to have been put up to meet the needs ofone of the laborers. There is a mystery about it which deepens on closer inspection.
"THE CAT HOUSE."
A "Lloyd's News" representative visited the park the other dayto have a talk with the remarkable man who inhabits the dwelling, which isknown to the neighbourhood by the name of 'The Cat House." Approached, asit was on this occasion, from the lodge onthe road to Shotley. one obtains a charming impression of this old world likeestate, bounded by water and protected and adorned by ancient oaks and finepoplars and elms, for which some of the old parks of Suffolk are still famous.
The late Mr Robert Seager, of Ipswich, an antiquary of national reputation,who took considerable trouble to get at the facts of a story, held that"The Cat House" was in the eighteenth century a most respectable receptaclefor contraband goods. Smuggling was, of course, a fine art in those days, and asmuggler was looked upon as much as a hero as if it had bled for his country. Asthe old skipper who lives in this house of mystery said to our representative,"there was a sort of free trade in smuggling. We all did a little. Some ofus smoked nothing but smuggled tobacco, and when we had a taste of gin -orwhiskey it was pronounced the best if it bore the brand of Dunkirk, and aospirits that reached our way with that brand could be other than smuggled."
The authority just quoted said that Ipswich shopkeepers were always pleasedto have a call from smugglers on the Orwell. They paid their bills with"honest" gold, drank the best wine, and bought the best ofeverything. Adam Smith held the smuggler to be a national hero, "one"-toquote his own words-"who would have been in every respect an excellentcitizen-had not the laws of his country made smuggling a crime, which Natureever intended it to be."
DAYS OF THE PRESS GANG
Mr Seager once told the writer that in the days of the press gangsmugglers at Harwich were preferred before any other class. They were familiar withevery square yard of the East Anglian coast. They were wizards at managing alugger in a storm, and could pilot a smack into almost any nook or corner onthe Orwell or Stour, and his theory is that there is good ground for acceptingthe legend of 'The Cat House. "On the-eastern window of the house is apoor outline of a white cat. The drawing is symbolical of a practice thatprevailed locally among a certain class of smugglers. As a scoop or boat drewnear to the house by the slope, the-inmate would exhibit from the easternwindow a white cat, as a sign that the excisemen were either in a far countryor fast asleep. Then the scoop would slow along to the banks, discharge itscontraband, and make off with a set of fishing tackle or other cargo of aperfectly legal nature. In some parts inmates of a smuggling rendezvous wouldwave a white sheet or light- a fire in the wood, or show from the chimney pot abosom or, as was more common, place a candle light in the window at night. In anycase, "The Cat House" was splendidly situated for the purpose ofHarwich or Ipswich smugglers. It is on a lonely part of the Orwell, and easilyreached at high tide. One story is generally accepted. A number of barrels ofFrench brandy were discovered in "The Cat House," by the excisemen,and the predecessor of the present occupant was fined the sum of £100 simplybecause they were found there, though it is maintained that he was quiteinnocent of participating in any fraud. Other stories are less reliable. Forexample, it is believed that one night the cat was shown at the window asusual, and the men on board a small craft came along right merrily with anexceptionally heavy cargo of tobacco, spirits, and gunpowder. Their prize was unusuallyheavy and profitable. The captain of the gang was proud of his exploit and wasoverheard to say as the climbed the slope that he would stay at home with hisMary Ann till Christmas was forgotten. He had scarcely finished these wordswhen a gang of the King's officers darted out of "The Cat House" surroundedthe smugglers, and took them prisoners. "Instead of Mary Ann, mate,"remarked one of the officers to theleader, "shall we call it Ipswich Gaol?"' But more reliable is thestory that Captain Charles Mills, the grand old yachtsman of England, andpresent occupant of "The Cat House,"has to narrate. A fine type of the old sea-dog is the captain. He lifts hishands as if ready to seize the oars and tells you, "I can pull a goodstroke yet. I could cross the Orwell to-night If I cared, but one is not sospry about such a voyage as he was ten years ago. Last week I walked to PinMill and ordered a ton of'-coals."
A GOOD SCIIOOL.
"To what do you attribute your longevity and rare spirits?" "Nothingin particular," he replies. "I have taken care of myself, given the groga wide berth, though I like a glass of ale, and lived on honest life. I was trainedin a good school. I don't mean the little bit of learning that I picked up at adame's school in the village here, nor at the evening school. I got an idea asto how to count, and could do a bit of figuring. No; the school that did memost good was when I went out into the world on my own, after I had roughed itas a keeper's boy on this very estate. We had more kicks than halfpennies inthose days. Them were the days when a lad could fish, shoot, swim, do a bit ofpoaching-not thought a deadly sin then-and work like a nigger without askingabout hours or wages or afternoons off to see games. Boys were hardy, toughcustomers; but, like other lads who lives under the sight of the sea, I wantedto get beyond, and so I went to sea. My father was the principal brewer of theplace, and I did not care for the Job, for I fancied that in time I would bepitched into the same line; so I pleaded to be let go to sea. I began on abilly-boy, and thought it was a case of out of the frying pan into the fire, Idid not own to anyone that life. onboard a billy-boy was slavery. I bided mytime, sir,-and when I engaged myself to a collier brig I felt that I took myplace as a man.
"After that I sailed a good deal in one ship or another. I had myshare of ups and downs at sea, perhaps the strangest being near the CanaryIslands. I was on a Bristol schooner at the time, and as soon as we left the shelter of the islands we met withfoggy, squally, treacherous weather. For seventeen days we sailed and tacked plungedabout in a sea that at times threatened to put an end to our worries. When thefog lifted and the sea calmed down. and we were able to take our bearingscorrectly, we discovered that we had made 11 miles progress. Our provisionswere scanty, and at that not very luscious, you bet; but we were as proud ofour ship as a horse trainer is when he brings his gee-gee home on a Derby Day.
THE BAILIFFE'S MESSAGE.
"Well, after knocking about the coasts, I was surprised one day toget a message from the bailiffe of Woolverstone here to go and see him. I wonderedwhat was to happen, for I had a feeling that perhaps some of my formeracquaintances had spun a yarn about my little poaching days. You can judge ofmy surprise when I was told one April morning that the Master of Woolverstonewanted me to take charge of his yawl and live in 'The Cat House.' And that putsme in mind of a curious coincidence. I was born in the month of April, marriedtwice in April, and I took possession of 'The Cat House' in April. It has beena lucky month for me ,and when you remember that sixty years of my life have beenspent in the service of the Berners of Woolverstone Park, most of the time astheir yachtsman, well, sir, I have much to be thankful for.
"As a yachtsman, I led an uneventful life. I never was in a seriousaccident, never a collision, and only once, as far as I can remember, did Ifall to keep an appointment. If we went to sea intending to return in a week ora month or in three months, I managed to stick to the programme to a day and,as a rule, to the hour.
LEAVING THE SEA.
"My first craft was the yawl Edith, a regular storm-defier. When abreeze rose that little thing always seemed to me like a dog on the scent: shewanted to run. She had a capital bow that tossed the water right and left, andkept the deck as dry as turf in summer. We had some flue sport on board the oldyawl." As the old man takes his walks today-and they are quitefrequent-the Orwell fishermen salute him affectionately as "tileCaptain." The boys and girls always pass a kindly word to the oldyachtsman.
"When I left the sea to go home, my old captain asked me, 'Are youdiscontented, Mills, with me or my ship?' I replied, 'No, sir, I am satisfiedwith both, but my old parents at home need me.' The captain then said, 'Mills,you will never be in want of a friend,' and I have had friends in all walks oflife. For forty-four years I had charge of the Berners' yacht, the Egret, an85-ton schooner, built at Lymington under my own eye, and though old men have aweakness for boasting of their own achievements, I tell you she was envied allalong this coast. She could stand up to the wind like an eagle, and as for therunning. well, the fact that she was taking prizes up to a few years ago shows,I think, that the old yacht builders knew how to build a thing that couldendure the fickleness of our weather and be a source of pride to her owners. "Ispent a happy time aboard her. We had a crew of six, and yachted six to eightmonths out of the twelve. The father of the present holder of Woolverstone Parkwas about the most exact and methodical man that I ever met, and a sworn andinveterate enemy to the man who could not control his taste for a glass ofgrog. My crew were always sober. I set them the example, of course, and theresult was that I kept my crews and gave plea sure to my employers."
* sailors' name for a round bow and stern coasting schooner;it is an excellent sea boat, and, from its box-like form, carries a largecargo. These vessels usually come from Yorkshire, but are generally found onmost parts of the English coast: their masts '— lower," like the Londonbarges, for passing beneath bridges.”.