Poor Putnam was soon in a deplorable condition, with hands swollen
terribly from the tightness of the ligature, and his feet gashed and
bleeding, as he trudged along the trail beneath his enormous burden. He
begged the savages to knock him on the head and end his sufferings; but
he was soon to experience even more horrible sensations, for, arriving
in advance of the main party at the place where they were to camp for
the night, the small body of Indians that had him in charge concluded to
burn him at the stake! He was suffering terribly from the blow on his
jaw, from his swollen hands and mutilated feet, and also from a tomahawk
gash in his cheek, so that he cared little what became of him, provided
the end came quickly. To be burned alive, however, was a fate that
brought a shudder to the frame of even stout-hearted Israel Putnam, and
he looked on in horror while his captors stripped him naked, bound him
to a tree and piled the dry brush they had gathered for fuel around him
in a circle. All the while, as they labored at their fiendish task, they
chanted a funeral dirge, which was almost as depressing to their captive
as their sinister preparations for his immediate immolation.
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