By this time his hands were so swollen from the tightness of the cord that the pain was unbearable, while his feet bled freely from their many scratches.  Exhausted with his burden and wild with torment, he asked the interpreter to beg the Indians either to loose his hands or knock him on the head, and end his torture at once.  His appeal was heard by a French officer, who immediately order his hands to be unbound and some of his burden to be removed.  Shortly afterwards the Indian who had captured him, and who had been absent with the wounded, came up and expressed great indignation at his treatment.  He gave him a pair of moccasins, and seemed kindly disposed towards him.

Unfortunately for the captive, this kindly savage was obliged to resume his duty with the wounded, leaving Putnam with the other Indians, some two hundred in number, who marched in advance of the French contingent of the party towards the selected camping-place.  On the way their barbarity to their helpless prisoner continued, culminating in a blow with a tomahawk, which made a deep wound in his left cheek.

This cruel treatment was but preliminary to a more fatal purpose.  It was their intention to burn their captive alive.  No sooner had they reached their camping-ground than they led him into the forest depths, stripped him of his clothes, bound him to a tree, and heaped dry fuel in a circle round him.  While thus engaged they filled the air with the most fearful sounds to which their throats could give vent, a pandemonium of ear-piercing yells and screams.  The pile prepared, it was set on fire.  The flames spread rapidly through the dry brush.  But by a chance that seemed providential, at that moment a sudden shower sent its rain-drops through the foliage, extinguished the increasing fire, and dampened the fuel.

No sooner was the rain over than the yelling savages applied their torches again to the funeral pile of their living victim.  The dampness checked their efforts for a time, but at length the flames caught, and a crimson glow slowly made its way round the circle of fuel.  The captive soon felt the scorching heat.  He was tied in such a way that he could move his body, and he involuntarily shifted his position to escape the pain,—­an evidence of nervousness that afforded the highest delight to his tormentors, who expressed their exultation in yells, dances, and wild gesticulations.  The last hour of the brave soldier seemed at hand.  He strove to bring resolution to his aid, and to fix his thoughts on a happier state of existence beyond this earth, the contemplation of which might aid him to bear without flinching, a short period of excruciating pain.

At this critical moment, when death in its most horrid form stared him in the face, relief came.  A French officer, who had been told of what was in progress, suddenly bounded through the savage band, kicked the blazing brands to right and left, and with a stroke of his knife released the imperilled captive.  It was Molang himself.  An Indian who retained some instincts of humanity had informed him of what was on foot.  The French commander reprimanded his barbarian associates severely, and led the prisoner away, keeping him by his side until he was able to transfer him to the care of the gigantic Indian who had captured him.