1843 and All That: murder and a ‘crooked’ parliament

A venal House of Commons, a time of economic dislocation, an unpopular PM: Siân Busby sees eerie resonances in the strange case of Daniel McNaughten

When Daniel McNaughten, a young Glaswegian wood-turner, shot Edward Drummond Esq on a freezing January afternoon in 1843, the widespread reaction was dismay but not astonishment. Such atrocities were only to be expected at a time of economic depression, social dislocation, terrorists and spies around every corner (does that sound familiar?). The unfortunate Mr Drummond was not only a scion of the wealthy and influential Drummond banking family (half the world’s wealth was said to be stashed in their coffers beneath Charing Cross). He was also the Prime Minister’s private secretary — and in January 1843 politicians and the very wealthy were perhaps even more mistrusted than they are today.

It was generally assumed that the ‘Scotch maniac’ must have intended his bullet for the prime minister, Sir Robert Peel — an assumption which still prevails, although no proof has ever been discovered. Peel was being burned in effigy all over the country and was receiving daily death threats. Revolution was in the air. Queen Victoria had been fired at twice in preceding months. Baton charges, the reading of the Riot Act, hussars firing volleys over the heads of rioting hordes, had become common occurrences. The rich and powerful could hear the rattle of the tumbrils and the creak and thud of the guillotine. And, it was popularly held, they had only themselves to blame.

The ‘murderous assault’ (Mr Drummond died five days later) occurred a few weeks after the close of the year, generally regarded, with hindsight, to be the worst of the entire 19th century. Britain was a sooty, filthy, ill-drained, jerry-built place 166 years ago, enveloped in Malthusian gloom (which can be summed up as ‘things can only get worse’).