Governor Treat, the presiding officer of the Assembly, addressed Sir Edmund in tones of remonstrance and entreaty.  The people of America, he said, had been at the greatest expense and had suffered the most extreme hardships in planting the country; they had freely spent their blood and treasure in defending it against savage natives and foreign aggressors; and all this had been done for the honor and glory of the motherland.  He himself had endured hardships and been environed by perils, and it would be like giving up his life to surrender the patent and privileges so dearly bought and so long enjoyed.

Argument of this kind was wasted on Sir Edmund.  Remonstrance and appeal were alike in vain.  It was the charter he wanted, not long-winded excuses, and he fumed and fretted while the slow-talking members wasted the hours in what he looked upon as useless argument.

Night had been drawing near on his entrance.  Darkness settled upon the Assembly while the debate went on.  Lights were now brought in,—­the tallow candles of our colonial forefathers,—­and placed upon the table round which the members sat.  By this time Sir Edmund’s impatience at their procrastination had deepened into anger, and he demanded the charter in so decided tones that the reluctant governor gave orders that it should be produced.  The box containing it was brought into the chamber and laid upon the table, the cover removed, and there before their eyes lay the precious parchment, the charter of colonial liberty.

Still the members talked and procrastinated.  But it is not easy to restrain the hound when within sight of the game which it has long pursued.  Before the eyes of Sir Edmund lay that pestiferous paper which had given him such annoyance.  His impatience was no longer to be restrained.  In the midst of the long-drawn-out oratory of the members he rose and stepped towards the table to seize the object in dispute.

At that critical instant there came an unexpected diversion.  During the debate a number of the more important citizens had entered the room, and stood near the table round which the members sat.  Suddenly, from the midst of those people, a long cloak was deftly flung, with such sure aim that it fell upon the circle of blazing candles, extinguishing them all, and in a moment throwing the room into total darkness.

Confusion followed.  There were quick and excited movements within the room.  Outside, the crowd which had assembled set up a lusty cheer, and a number of them pushed into the chamber.  The members stirred uneasily in their seats.  Sir Edmund angrily exclaimed,—­

“What means this, gentlemen?  Is some treachery at work?  Guard the charter!  Light those candles instantly!”

The attendants hastened to obey; but haste in procuring light in those days had a different meaning than now.  The lucifer-match had not yet been dreamed of.  The flint-and-steel was a slow conception.  Several minutes elapsed before the candles again shed their feeble glow through the room.