The destruction of the Carolina completely deflated the rebel cause. Troops already disheartened with the starving conditions due to lack of supplies had resorted to inward fighting. The band of rebels dissolved, forced to abandon their position on Navy Island, and fled to the States. William Mackenzie was later arrested by American authorities and charged with violating American neutrality laws.

April 12, 1838

Spring had begun its hesitant arrival. The sun shone warmer, promising, giving hope, teasing. The snow had finally disappeared, and a slick mud greased the streets, and yet the wind, cold and northerly, defiantly refused to acquiesce its hold.  

With the hope of warmer days, people shifted their attention from political oppression and the recent stirrings of revolution to planting gardens and summer plans. Memories quickly blurred and no one wanted to remember what had the problem even been… what had everyone so worked up?

After the arrest of the rebel leaders, general life slipped back into quiet complacency. The public soon forgot the men who had given up their futures for the cause. Fear silenced the few who still remembered. Mundane life smothered the excited murmurings of dissent. People forgot. They forgot the crimes that had driven good men from society and its freedoms, the judgments that had stripped honest, hard-working, God-fearing husbands and fathers from their rightful place in the home.

Even Elizabeth occasionally forgot. In the early hours of morning, when sleep still shrouded her mind, she would reach out only to find the bed cold, Samuel’s warm body absent. At the birds’ first song, her heart would lift for a fleeting moment before she caught herself. She would join in her children’s laughter without thinking, losing herself briefly in their joy, until the weight of waiting caught her voice and all laughter died in her throat.

They were only waiting. Waiting for the fateful day, praying desperately for a miracle. Until that hope was fully quenched, life stood still.

The fateful morning dawned glorious and bright.

“It should be pouring rain,” Elizabeth muttered as she pushed back the curtain. Heaven should be weeping with them. Her hand brushed the soft blue dress she had laid out, Samuel’s favourite. She refused to wear black.

She had exhausted every avenue, written letter after letter, all to no avail. Nothing could alter what providence had deemed necessary. She dressed mechanically. Against all odds, she still refused to speak of Samuel’s fate as fixed, his future fatal. As long as he drew breath, she felt it would be a betrayal to do so. She would hope until hope itself had died.

Ira knocked softly on her door. “It’s time, Mama.” The older boys had come with her. They would see Samuel one last time.

While the promise of spring brought hope and life, there was no joy for Samuel, oblivious to its quiet arrival. For weeks now, the sound of hammers pounding had shattered the stillness of the frosty mornings. Their ominous rhythm filled his mind with a solemn resignation. As a warning to all, officials had ordered the scaffolding to be built prominently in the prison yard, where the largest number of prisoners could see it. Day by day its progress loomed, grim and undeniable. Time was running out.

The foreman had refused to take part. “I’ll not put my hand to something so unjust,” Matthew Sheard declared. “Lount and Matthews have done nothing I myself would not have done in their place.” He lifted his chin in defiance. “Aye, and had more of us done it, they wouldn’t be where they are now. I’ll never help build the gallows to hang them.”

But the work went on without him, others more than willing to take his place. And so, the scaffolding rose, the gallows now firmly set.

As morning dawned, a somber silence hung over the jail. None had slept, weighted by expectation. Hours before Samuel and Peter were brought forth, a crowd of onlookers had already gathered. Faithful supporters of the cause—nearly ten thousand strong—filled the grounds, and front and center stood Elizabeth, trembling, her sons clustered around her. To their surprise, a number of church members had joined them, stark in their plain religious dress, though the Reverend was noticeably absent.

A host of Orange militia surrounded the gallows, their muskets drawn, officials fearing an uprising… dreading a rescue. But no uprising happened. No daring rescue. No last-minute miracle occurred. The crowd stood defeated, shoulders slumped.

There was a clank as the prison door creaked open. The crowd hushed to silence and held their breath in expectation.  Guards led Matthews and Lount through the heavy prison door. The bright morning sun struck their weak eyes but neither flinched.

Standing tall, Lount paused at the door, turning back one last time.

“Be of good courage boys. I am not ashamed of anything I have done.”

His voice strong and unwavering carried to the men still imprisoned behind the walls.

“I trust in God, and I am going to die like a man.”

A guard pushed him on, but one look from Samuel and he stepped back. With the dignity of man committed to his resolve, Sameul began the walk to the scaffold. His eyes earnestly scanned the crowd, flitting from face to face. Until they rested on hers.

Elizabeth stood regal in her blue dress, head held high, her face beaming with love and pride.

Samuel paused.

 “Libby.”

 His voice faltered.

For a moment in time, their eyes held and they affirmed the promises they had spoken so many years ago, ‘till death do us part.’

The guard once again prodded him, but Samuel lingered a moment longer, his eyes gave a final caress. He took in his stalwart sons surrounding his wife, tears coursing down their cheeks. Ira wiped his face furiously. Each one solemnly nodded their respect.

Samuel smiled through his tears.

“We die for a good cause,” Samuel’s voice broke the stillness, and he willed strength to his young sons. “Canada will yet be free.”

The crowd cheered. 

Samuel turned and thanked the guards who had treated him with kindness during his imprisonment.  They moved slowly to the ladder and mounted the eight steps to the gallows sure footed.

Positioned on the gallows, Lount turned and bowed to the many eyes watching from behind the prison walls before he knelt in prayer. With a final look to the sky, Samuel once again raised his voice breaking the eerie silence.

“Forget not the cause for which I die.”

White hoods were placed over their heads and a noose slipped about their necks. In the early hours of Thursday, April 12, 1838, Samuel Lount and Peter Matthews lost their lives for the cause of freedom.

A cry rose from the crowd, but Elizabeth Lount stood firm, face unflinching.

In their death, Samuel Lount and Peter Matthews kindled a fire that grew into a steady flame, accomplishing more than any other act of the rebellion. They incited within the public a sense of injustice. Their death showcased the vindictive nature of the Family Compact, blatantly highlighting the lack of meaningful political representation and sharply shifted public sentiment.  

They became the human stories which pushed Canada towards a fair and people representative government. And their deaths are cited to this day as evidence of state repression accelerating reform rather than repressing it.

Samuel Lount’s execution sparked a decade long revolution, weakening the oppressive hold of the British oligarchy and establishing responsible government, by the people, for the people. Though at a high cost, their actions began a movement that pushed toward an inclusive and accountable political system, the foundation for modern Canadian democracy.

Let us not lose sight of their vision.