Captain John Wyrill, who, I am glad to say, is still hale and hearty, took Berean from the stocks and only left her when she changed her flag. He is one of the few sailors left of the good old sort, for he has the distinction of never having served in a steamship. Coming from one of the foremost seafaring families in Scarborough, Captain Wyrill went to sea as far back as 1850; his apprenticeship indentures were for seven years, but he was an acting second mate within three years of his going to sea.
His first command in T. B. Walker’s ships came about in rather a curious way. He was appointed to command a ship, belonging to Mr. Hodgson Smith, the father of Scarborough’s present harbourmaster, in place of a captain who was ill. This ship lay in a South Coast port, but on Captain Wyrill arriving there to take up his command he found that the sick skipper had recovered and sailed on his voyage. Mr. Smith thereupon introduced him to Mr. T. B. Walker and his brother Henry Walker, who, by the way, were natives of Scarborough. Through them he obtained command of a ship called the Lady Stanley, his next command was the Asphodel, then the Velocidade, which he left to take the Berean.
Captain Wyrill circumnavigated the globe no less than 36 times, and was 44 years in command of sailing ships, for 42 of which he was in the Tasmanian trade. Indeed no history of Tasmania’s rise to her present prosperity and importance would be complete without some mention of the Berean and her commander. And when it was known in Launceston that Captain Wyrill was leaving Tasmania homeward bound for the last time, with the intention of retiring from the sea, a meeting and public send-off was arranged and a purse of sovereigns and an illuminated address were presented to the veteran captain by the Mayor of the town after several eulogistic speeches, in which Captain Wyrill was referred to “as one of the most popular men ever connected with the shipping of Launceston.” Like many another sailing ship captain, Captain Wyrill was no mean surgeon and the setting of broken limbs at sea held no terrors for him. He once made a very good job of his second mate’s broken arm.
The Berean was so free from accidents at sea that after she had been afloat some years the underwriters at Lloyd’s offered to insure her at a specially reduced premium. Her most serious misfortune, whilst under Captain Wyrill, occurred whilst she was towing up to the docks from Gravesend. A large ship ahead suddenly took the ground and the Berean was unable to clear her, the collision costing her a new bowsprit, besides damages to figure-head and cutwater. Her narrowest escape from shipwreck was owing to a wrong light in 1888 in no less a place than the Channel. Fairplay, in criticising the misdeeds of Trinity House, gives the following account of the incident:—
The Berean, Captain Wyrill, left London for the Colonies in the fall of last year. Before sailing the captain received from the Board of Barnacles notice that the light on St. Catherine’s, Isle of Wight, was to be altered in October from a fixed oil light to an electric flash with intervals of about five seconds. The captain, like a prudent man, entered this on his chart, so that it should not be overlooked. Before he left the Colonies, another notice of the impending change was given him, and he was well armed with timely advice. He made his homeward voyage, and calculated he was off the Channel. He had not been able to get an observation for three days, but he felt sure of his position, and he shaped a course right up Channel for Beachy Head. A strong S.W. wind was blowing, and the weather was thick and dirty. When he judged he had run his distance to Portland, he bore up a little for the English land to catch St. Catherine’s light, and word was given to look out for the bright electric flash. No such light was visible and the vessel was still kept away. Presently a dim light was seen 2 points on the starboard bow. At first this light looked green and was taken to be the starboard light of an approaching ship, and the helm was starboarded a little to give more room. A little time showed that idea to be wrong, and eyes were still strained to catch St. Catherine’s with no result. Then the light seen was taken for a steamer’s masthead light, but that notion did not do, and it was quite clear that the light, let it be what it might, was a fixed shore light. Over went the lead, and the soundings showed the shore to be handy, but what shore? Or what part of the shore? Clearly not off St. Catherine’s, because according to notice given there could be no fixed light there.
The course and soundings would have agreed with the French shore in the neighbourhood of Cape La Hogue. Something had to be done, and quickly. The light was getting clearer but no land could be seen. If the vessel was on the French coast it would be fatal to haul her wind, if on the English coast it would be destruction to bear up. What was to be done? Over went the lead again. Twelve fathoms. That was enough, thank you. There was too much sea on to stay the ship in a hurry, so the captain wore her round and stood off on the port tack to get back where he came from. The compass soon showed that the flood tide was setting the vessel in by the light, and there was nothing for it but to wear again and get out past the light on the old course, if it could be done. The captain took the wheel, and calling to the crew to pull hard if ever they pulled in their lives, sent her round again. It was hit or miss, but the vessel was smart, and was smartly handled. She came round like a duck and just managed to go clear of the light, which after all, turned out to be St. Catherine’s. It had never been altered.
The “Berean’s” Races.
In her 27 years of sailing out to the Antipodes and home, the Berean had many a contest with clippers twice her size, in which she gave a very good account of herself.
Captain Wyrill gave a very interesting description of three of these encounters in the Nautical Magazine a few years ago, and I do not think I can do better than quote his own words. He writes:—