CAPTAIN MURCHISON was born in Applecross, Ross-shire, on the first day of November, 1854. He was the youngest of a family of eight children—four sons and four daughters. William seems to have been to his mother what Benjamin was to Jacob—her life was “bound up in the lad’s life.” We often heard him relate how his mother used to take him into her closet, when he was a little boy, and there make him kneel beside her, while she prayed with and for him to the Father who seeth in secret. The “reward” was indeed, in the case of William Murchison, “openly,” for, as far as moral character was concerned—apart altogether from his successful career in life—his life was unique.
His brothers, who were much older than himself, possessed sailing vessels, with which they traded to ports in Spain, France, the Baltic, and Iceland. The first vessel they had was the “Alpha,” and the second, the “Surprise.” William, who had a particularly good aptitude for mastering the science of navigation, learnt as much of the science in the village school and by private study, that when he joined his brothers at the age of seventeen years, they entrusted to him at once the navigation of the “Alpha.” Afterwards he sailed the “Surprise,” and it was during this period he got his master’s certificate. His experiences on their own vessels of the care of the Father, to whom his mother used to pray in the closet, when he used to kneel beside her, were indeed wonderful; and we can here only refer to one such, which he himself always related with special reference to God’s protecting care over him in providence. They were on a voyage to Iceland, and when near the coast of Iceland they encountered a terrific gale, which forced them to run before it for days in quite a different direction from their intended course. When they could no longer, with safety, run before the gale, they hove to, and soon afterwards the gale moderated. But it soon broke out afresh with equal force from quite a different quarter. This second storm raised such a cross sea that their position seemed hopeless, and, to crown all, William had his shoulder dislocated in a tremendous sea which almost overwhelmed their vessel. Nothing daunted, he called his companions about him, and instructed them as to how they could set his shoulder. This they successfully did, and the Captain resumed his duties. After some terrible experience they reached port without having sustained very serious damage.
When they sold their own vessels in 1888 Captain Murchison joined the Hogarth Steam Shipping Company as master. In 1891 he brought his wife and family to live in Oban, and in the following year he joined Mr. Evans’ yacht, “Aster,” and remained with the latter until his death in 1905. While with Mr. Evans the Captain came into intimate contact with such scientific men as the late Sir Archibald Geikie and his brother. Mr. Evans used to place his yacht at the service of Sir Archibald on his geological tours in the West Highlands. Captain Murchison loved to tell conversations which passed between himself and the eminent geologist, about the Creator and the wonders of His works, as seen in geology. In all his ways, and before all classes of men, Captain Murchison always acknowledged his absolute confidence in God and in the infallibility of His Word. After Mr. Evans’ death the Captain returned to the Hogarth Company’s ships, and was with them practically until his health broke down, about nine years ago.
As we take a retrospective glance over his seafaring life, we shall indicate, in a few words, what we meant by saying that his life was unique, apart from his successful career. Well, Captain Murchison never used bad language from his childhood; he never smoked; never tasted strong drink of any kind, as far as he was himself aware of it. He never lost a man at sea, nor had any seriously injured who were under his charge. He was really—if the expression is applicable to any of the children of Adam—”one of nature’s gentlemen” temperamentally.
But Captain Murchison was a gracious man. As to when the change took place, no one could tell. He did not know it himself; but he did know and understand the “new birth.” He knew also that there was a period in his life when his heart was not so warmed by the presence of God as it afterwards became, but at what period the actual transition from death to life took place, that was to him unknown. Perhaps it was in the closet on his knees beside his mother, as a little boy, that the “leaven” of grace was hid in his youthful mind. We think it must have been. It occasioned him no little difficulty in latter days that he could not remember having undergone a saving change, as so many of God’s people can do. There was, however, a time when his mind became more markedly occupied with eternal things, and that was when God took from them, by death, one of the three daughters which he had given them. This lovely child died at the age of ten years. Her name was Bella Mary, and a touching account of her brief but beautiful life appeared in the January number of this Magazine in 1899, from the pen of the Rev. Alex. Stewart, now of Edinburgh. Bella Mary was buried in Oban, and her father erected a little monument over her grave. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Murchison’s father, who came to live with them in Oban, died, and by his own request was buried in a lair, which he asked the Captain to purchase for him, beside Bella Mary. When the Captain’s health failed, he almost daily visited the child’s grave—Sabbath excepted.
His illness was of a peculiar nature. It was loss of memory, and was due to the decay of part of the brain. It was gradual in its process, and he was himself aware of its development. From a psychological point of view his case was most interesting. His mentality could never be explained by the “steam-kettle” hypothesis, namely, that, when the brain fails, self-consciousness ceases. He was a living refutation of materialism. Before he became confined to his bed, he could not recognise his own children when they came home to visit their parents. He forgot the names of everything and everybody, but he knew the Father, His Son, and the Holy Spirit. He knew the Bible, the Sabbath, and prayer. He was continually praying to “God and His Son,” as he used to say himself, and the Father and the Son and the Spirit dealt very liberally with him. He could no longer hold converse with the material world as he used to do, because the organ that God gave him for that purpose had gone out of order, but he did not need such an organ to enjoy the love of God in his soul.
From the beginning of our Church movement the Captain took a more than ordinary interest in the Free Presbyterian Church. He identified himself with it from the beginning. Before he became a member in full communion, he had often expressed the desire to do so, but was prevented by his circumstances until he retired. He was thus really an invalid when he appeared before the Session. He had several conversations with the writer about his spiritual condition before he came before the Session, and he said that he would love to go to the Lord’s table, that he had such a desire for many years previously, but that now, seeing his memory had failed him, and that he could not give any account of his conversion, he thought that perhaps he should not go at all. He was asked to come, which he did, and I don’t suppose there ever was such an examination before a Session, or that any Session ever got better evidence of the “good work” having been begun in an individual. After the Moderator had made a few remarks by way of explaining the private interview which he had with the captain, he asked Captain Murchison to tell the Session some of the things he could remember of God’s dealings with him. The dear Captain then rose, bowed to the Court, and began, as follows:—
“Gentlemen,—I was never outwardly bad like some people. I always believed in God and the Bible since I was a boy. But I am different now from what I was when on the ships, although I was not then bad outwardly. Yet I was then with my mind on the world and my work, but I was then thinking about God and the Bible, although not as I am now. I am now always thinking about God and how good He is, that He sent His Son into this awful world to save sinners, and I feel now such love in here (placing his hand on his heart) that I think that if the King would come to me and say, ‘Look here, Murchison, if you will go back to the life you lived when you were on the ships, we will make a millionaire of you; and if not, if you prefer the life you have now, we will send you to the poorhouse.’ Now, gentlemen, as you know, I don’t need to go to the poorhouse—I am only supposing the thing. Well, I would go to the poorhouse to-morrow rather than go back to the life I had before I knew this warm thing I feel in here (placing his hand again on his heart) to God, and to His Son Jesus Christ.”
A Session would require to be “Separatists,” indeed, that would not receive one after such an examination! But, to get some more of the blessed man’s experience for their own benefit, for there was such a charming simplicity about his address, the Session asked him if he always had the warm feeling of love to God
He replied:—”Well, gentlemen, I will tell you what happened to me not long ago. I was in Applecross, where I was born, and one day I went up to the top of a hill there, where I used to go when I was a boy, and this feeling grew very, very big, and I was very happy. So I came home, and the next morning I hadn’t the feeling at all, but I went off again to the top of the hill, but the feeling did not come back on the hill that day. Do you think was that right?”
He was told that the thing could not have been in the hill, at any rate, or else that he would feel it the same on both days. Then he replied, “Do you think it was from God?” He was told that undoubtedly it was. He then told the Session how the devil would be tempting him, and how he was feeling his power also “in here” (in his heart); that he never knew he had such a bad heart, but that God was kind to him. He said that Satan used to trouble him, especially at night in his sleep, but that lately he had ceased to do so, and that he thought it was God who had helped him in this respect, because he had asked God in prayer to give him, even in his sleep, to be thinking of Himself, His Son, and His people. And “now,” he said, “my mind at night is on good things.” He was really to be envied.
He loved the Sabbath, and, like the Psalmist, he “was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.” He was always in his place at every service on Sabbath, and on weekdays, even although latterly he lost his hearing. Some time before he died he was advised not to go to the services, for on several occasions he took fainting turns, and he was not himself aware of what was really taking place. At last he was confined to his bed altogether, but he suffered no pain, and was continually praying and praising God. The only person he never failed to recognise was Mrs. Murchison. He said to her a few days before the end, “There are two places up yonder”—meaning the graves of Bella Mary and her grandfather. “Yes,” Mrs. Murchison replied, “and in which of them would you wish to be buried?” “Oh,” he said, “it does not matter. I am going to a place not made with hands.”
He went in peace to that “place” on the eighth day of November, 1920. He left behind him his wife and two daughters, to whom he was truly devoted. We extend to them our sincere sympathy, and pray that the Lord may bind them up in the bundle of life, as He did the Captain and Bella Mary.
A. M’K.