Heroes of science

by P. Martin Duncan

The older rocks of the globe studied accurately and surveyed—The general similarity of the succession of strata in many parts of the world decided—The geology of Wales and Scotland described—The commencement of accurate geological surveys.

Roderick Impey Murchison was the descendant of a very old Rossshire family, who were great supporters of the Stuarts in the wild western country of the north of Scotland. His great-grandfather fell at Sheriffmuir, and his grandfather, a tenant farmer, had to struggle with slender means during a long life. But long before this fine old man died, at the age of ninety-nine, he saw the fortunes of his family retrieved by his eldest son, whom he outlived.

This son, Roderick Impey Murchison’s father, was born in 1751, and, thanks to the cheap and good education which was to be got at Edinburgh and Glasgow, he became a surgeon. Passing the examination at the Royal College of Surgeons in England, the young man was sent out to India, and living at Lucknow for seventeen years, made a fortune. He came home to the old country, and bought the estate of Tarradale, in the eastern part of Ross, kept up the old Highland customs, and made himself useful as a medical man when aid was required. He married, in 1791, the daughter of Mackenzie, of Fairburn, lineal representative of the Rory More, or Big Roderick Mackenzie, to whom the estates had been granted by James V. Their younger son, Roderick Impey was born in February, 1792, and was reared by the “sonsie” miller’s wife of Tarradale, who hushed him to sleep with gaelic lullabies, and gave him an occasional taste of the famous whiskey distilled on the adjacent lands of Ferrintosh. But the father got delicate and moved to the south, carrying with him his household. On the way an end nearly came to the future geologist, for his father, wishing to make the boy “stand fire,” presented what was thought an empty pistol at him. The mother snatched the child away, and instantly a charge of shot rattled through the window. The father died when Murchison was only four years of age, and the boy wrote in after years his sad memory of the last of his father: “The opening of the red damask curtains of the lofty old-fashioned bed, the last kiss of my dying parent, and the form of the old-fashioned edifice to which the invalid had been removed, have been stereotyped in my mind.” The father was an accomplished gentleman, and the mother a young and attractive lady. A second marriage gave Murchison a good step-father in Colonel Robert Macgregor Murray, a friend of the deceased; but home life was broken up when the colonel was ordered off to Ireland during the rebellion. So Murchison was sent to the Durham Grammar School in 1799. He had a bitter parting from his mother and from Sally, the Devonshire lass, who gave him his English accent, which he retained through life. Six years were passed at school, and he was as full of mischief as most boys; picking up at the same time some of the so-called rudiments of learning.

He was ringleader in most of the exploits of the school, and during the holidays led a very active life with the assistance of his pony and terrier. One day his uncle told him that in due time he would make a good soldier, and from that day Murchison read of nothing but military heroes.

At the early age of thirteen he was sent to the military college at Great Marlow, and, after one pluck, was admitted as cadet. There he became conspicuous as a daring leader of fun and frolic, and as a moderate student; nevertheless he was great at drill. A gift which decided in after years much of his success was fostered at Great Marlow. His exercises in military drawing led to the future rapidity and correctness of his “eye” for “country” in geological surveying.

At fifteen years of age Murchison was gazetted as an ensign in the 36th regiment, and at Edinburgh he took lessons in French, Italian, German, and mathematics. He learned to ride and fence, and went in for debating. So having, as he said, done so much in the way of having a good opinion of himself, he was ordered to join his regiment at Cork in the winter of 1807-8. He was wonderfully surprised to find the officers anything but dandies, and, in fact, true old soldiers, quiet, well disciplined and associated with a first-rate fighting regiment. His chief, Colonel Burne, was a cool and gallant officer, and a favourite of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s. In 1808 the regiment was prepared for service in South America, and was suddenly ordered to Portugal, and on August 1st he landed, and saw the future Wellington put his foot on Portuguese soil, followed by his aide-de-camp, the future Lord Raglan.

A battle was soon to be fought, and at Vimiera.

Professor Geikie’s charming “Life of Murchison,” from which this little history is compiled, gives the following graphic description of Murchison’s first fight, at Vimiera:—

“To return to our own part of the battle, i.e., to our left wing, the fire of the enemy soon became very hot, and even though the 36th were lying on their breasts under the brow, our men were getting pretty much hit, whilst the regiment in our rear, the 82nd, which at that time could not fire a shot, suffered more than we did. General Spencer, who commanded the division, when moving about to regulate the general movements, was hit by a ball in the hand, and I saw him wrap his handkerchief round it, and heard him say, ‘It is only a scratch!’ Soon after the light infantry in our front closed files and fell in; our guns we pulled back, and then came the struggle. General Ferguson waving his hat, up we rose, old Burne (our colonel) crying out, as he shook his yellow cane, that he would knock down any man who fired a shot.

“This made some merriment among the men, as tumbling over was the fashion without the application of their colonel’s cane. “Charge,” was the word, and at once we went over the brow with a steady line of glittering steel, and with a hearty hurrah, against six regiments in close column, with six pieces of artillery, just in front of the 36th. But not an instant did the enemy stand against this most unexpected sally within pistol shot. Off they went, and all their guns were instantly taken, horses and all, and then left in our rear, whilst we went on chasing the runaways for a mile and a half, as hard as we could go, over the moor of Tourinhâo. They rallied, it is true, once or twice, particularly behind some thick prickly-pear hedges and a hut or two on the flat table-land; but although their brave General Solignac was always cantering to their front, and animating them against us, they at last fled precipitately, until they reached a small hamlet, where, however, they did make a tolerable stand.