After the battle of Eutaw Springs, so glorious for the American arms, the army retired to a position they had formerly occupied, on the high hills of Santee. That battle may be considered as the close of the war in South Carolina --- that being the last general engagement of the two opposing armies. The American troops were in high spirits, for they had accomplished a great deal in that single campaign of 1781. They opened the campaign with the gloomiest prospects. The whole State of south Carolina was in possession of the British army, and the Americans had scarcely the m eans of taking the field to oppose them. Yet this wretchedly-provided army, under the conduct of the military genius of Greene, had, at the close of the campaign, reduced the possessions of the British to the near neighborhood of Charleston. This was, indeed, enough to put the Americans in high spirits. Supplies for their camp were now abundant; for the crops which the British had planted, with the expectation of reaping the harvest for their own benefit, fell into the hands of the victorious Americans, and gave them a seasonable relief.

The time of the encampment of the American army on the high hills of Santee, was the latter part of August and September, of the year 1781. The principal actions of the campaign had taken place in the heat of a southern summer; and the weather was stil very warm when Greene returned to his position on the Santee. The camp, as we have said, was filled with supplies, and every opportunity was offered for the troops to enjoy a rest after their toils.

The evening was a calm and beautiful one. The red glow upon the horizon, that marked where the glorious sun had bid the scene farewell, was fast mellowing into a violet hue. The crescent moon was softly beaming from the cloudless sky, and, one by one, her assisting stars twinkled into view. A silence, broken only by the noise native to the field and wood, was gathering over the scene. The white tents made the encampment look like a closed-stone graveyard, in the evening light. The men were generally in their tents, but sleep could not visit their senses so early. In one of them, four men were lying upon the ground that formed the floor of the tent, as near the opening as they could get. The front of the tent looked out upon the country upon the hills, a scene which they regarded with an interest which argued a strong feeling of the beautiful in men. They were waiting for one of their number, who made up the mess of the tent. He had left the camp, in the afternoon, for a short excursion into the country, and had not yet returned. Their evening meal was already prepared upon the fire in the tent, but the men had concluded to wait for their comrade, both for the sake of his company, --- for he was the liveliest one of the mess, --- and that he might not want the company himself. They waited patiently till it began to grow dark, when one of them remarked: ---

"I wish Harry's make a little haste, if he is comin'; I'm beginnin' to feel a little like puttin' away some fodder."

"Oh, Bill, we can afford to wait a little longer. His company generally makes the food taste as good again," said another of the men. "there's no dullness while he's about. I've been in service the whole campaign; and I never come across a fellow like him in camp, yet."

"He's a first-rate chap," replied Bill, "but fodder's a good deal better for a hungry stomach than his company, I'm thinkin'."

"Here he comes!" exclaimed the individual nearest the entrance. "He's just turnin' the corner of the wood."

"Ha, ha! Boys," said Harry, "you've eaten up all the victuals, I suppose, by this time. I'm awful ravenous, after the tramp I've had."

"No, indeed," replied bill; "we've been waitin' for you till I'm almost hungry enough to eat you up. Com on now; will you!"

As Harry arrived at the tent, the men arose, and set about fixing the fire so as to make a light in the tent, to enable them to 'find the way to their mouths,' --- though, in their present hungry state, that would not have been a difficult operation, --- and also divided the provisions they had been cooking.

"Well, boys," said Harry, "I've been wanderin' through the country, up here, to see what it's like. I tell you, there's some pretty scenery around these parts."

"I know it," said Bill. "I saw it when we were encamped here before."

"for my part," observed Harry, "I'd sooner look at beautiful scenery than eat."

"Ah!" said bill, disposing of his victuals at a wonderful rate, "you romantic young men are apt to let yourselves be carried away from the substantial business of life. Now, for m y part, I'd sooner eat a dinner of my old mother's cooking, than look at all the pretty scenery in creation. There's nothing like eatin'."

"Except it is drinking," added John; another of the men.

"Yes, that's well put in," replied Bill. "Good eatin' and drinkin' is a pair of things I fell in love lwith just after I was born, and the likin' still sticks to me."

"If you fellows keep on, you'll get me to quotin poetry," said Harry, who was, from his conversation evidently a man of some education.

"Oh, don't replied Bill. "Of all things, I hate poetry. I like to hear things said in a plain, common-sense way, and not tuned to music. Such things are foolish."

"Well, bill," said Harry. "you are about the dullest customer I've ever had to deal with. What's a man fit for, that don't like pretty scenery and poetry? Nothing but 'treasons, strategems, and spoils," as Shakspeare says."

"Oh, drat the poetry, and the Shakspeare, and all that. Tell us somethin' worth hearin'. Somethin' that you've seen this campaign, if you've got nothin' else," said Bill.

"Yes," said John; 'somethin' about this campaign. You've been in it all through, and you must have seen somethin' worth tellin'."

"Well, boys," replied Harry, as he put his last piece in his mouth, "I think I can tell you about things that I've seen this campaign, that'll amuse you for awhile. Let me see. You joined the army just before the last battle, I believe?"

"John and I did," replied Bill; "but Joe, over there, has been in service the whole campaign, like yourself. Bob, here, joined, he says, after the battle at the Court-House."

"Well, Joe can keep himself still, while I tell you three all about the different affairs that have come under my observance. If I get too prosy and dull in my narrative, you must stop me. To begin, then. Guilford Court-House was the first place I ever saw a battle. You may have heard that, just before that battle, Greene was reinforced by two brigades of militia from North Carolina, and one from Virginia, and about four hundred regulars, raised for eighteen months. It was with these regulars that i joined the army. Before we arrived, Greene was desirous of avoiding a battle with Cornwallis, --- being in no way equal to him in force; but after our arrival, he concluded that our army was strong enough to risk a battle with the enemy. We were four thousand four hundred strong; but the largest part were militia. Cornwallis had with him about two thousand four hundred men; and they were chiefly troops who had seen many a victorious field. Our troops were drawn up in three lines. The front was composed of North Carolina militia; the second, of Virginia militia; and the last, of continental troops, commanded by General Huger and Colonel Williams. The battle was opened by a brisk cannonade, in front of the British army; and then they advanced in three columns. The Hessians were on the right, the Guards in the centre, and Colonel Webster's brigade on the left. They attacked our front line, which, as I told you, consisted of North Carolina militia; but when they were nearly a hundred and fifty yards off, the militia gave way. The reason was, they were untrained troops; and the colonel of one of the regiments cried out to another officer, at some distance, that 'he would be surrounded.' Now you might guess what effect such an announcement would have upon raw troops. They didn't stop to inquire whether it was true or not. That shows the use of having good officers, and how much depends upon them. The Virginia militia were the next to meet the advance of the enemy; and they stood their ground, and kept up their fire, till they were ordered to retreat. That was on account of their having a good and brave commander. General Stevens was the man. He posted forty riflemen, at equal distances, twenty paces in the rear of his brigade, with orders to shoot every man who should leave his post; and although he was wounded in the thigh, he set his men the example, by keeping his place. When the Virginia militia retreated, our turn came. I suppose you know how a man feels when he first goes into battle. In my case, the cause for anxiety was much greater than it generally is. I knew that everything depended upon the regular troops, and that we would have the principal shock of the battle to bear. Then, of course, we would have some hard fighting. At first, when I heard the rear of the musketry and cannon, and saw the wounded of the Virginia militia borne past us, I thought that, perhaps, that would be my fate; and I thought, also, of home and the friends I had left behind me; particularly one very near friend, that I knew was looking with anxiety for my return. But then, as the time for us to engage approached, I thought of the tyranny of the enemy we were fighting against, and that I stood there as the defender of my home and fireside from oppression; and by the time the order was given for us to engage, every fear of consequence was banished from my mind. I went ahead, heart and soul, intent on doing as m uch mischief as I could. We fought for an hour and a half, in the most obstinate and bloody manner. The veteran troops of the british came on with the force and steadiness they had displayed on many former occasions; and our half-trained regulars met them as if they, too, were veterans. The bravery our troops displayed in that contest of an hour and a half, could not have been surpassed; but discipline triumphed. The enemy broke the second Maryland brigade, turned our left flank, and got in the rear of the Virginia brigade. They even appeared to be gaining on our right, when they would have surrounded us; and the General therefore ordered a retreat. We retreated about three miles, and then drew up again, expecting the British to follow up their success; but they had been too much galled for that. The victory, as they called it, beat them so badly that they dared not follow us; and when we had collected our stragglers, we retreated to Speedwell's Iron-Works, about ten miles from Guilford. I wasn't hurt any; but you mustn't infer that I didn't do much fighting. I stood my ground, and blazed away while the men were falling all around me; and I learned to look death in the face pretty steadily that day. However, I wasn't sorry when the battle was over. We had reaped every advantage from the encounter but the bare possession of the field. They had lost six hundred and sixty-three, in killed and wounded, without he officers; and we had about four hundred killed and wounded. They were compelled to retreat from Guilford, soon after the battle, and to leave the wounded they had captured, and seventy-five of their own, in the same condition. We were ready for another battle, as soon as we retired to reedy fork; but they wouldn't attempt such a thing."

"When I went to school," interrupted Bill, "I used to read in a Roman history we had, about a general that brought a large army into the country of the Romans, and in a battle that they fought with the Romans, they were victorious; but when the battle was over, the general of the army invading the country of the Romans, said: --- 'Another such a victory, and I am undone.' I guess the British commander might have said the same thing, after that battle you're speakin' about."

"Very true, Bill. The general you mean was named Pyrrhus," replied Harry.

"Yes," said Bill.

"The loss of the battle --- that is, the field --- was blamed upon the North Carolina militia; wasn't it?" asked John.

"Yes," replied Harry, "and with very good reason; they might have given the enemy a severe check, if they had stood their ground. Then, with our regular troops to second them, the victory would have been certain. As it was, the fate of the day was for a long time doubtful."

"Well," put in Joe "go on with the narrative; will you?"

"All in the proper time,: said Harry. "You know that, soon after the battle of Guilford court-House, Greene marched into South Carolina, which he said he would recover, or die in the attempt."

"Yes; we've heard of the noble resolution of Greene," said Bill; "Joe was tellin' us about that."

"Well," continued Harry, "the main body of the army marched against Camden, while Colonel Lee marched to join Marion, on this river here, the Santee, to lay siege to Fort Watson, between Camden and Charleston. I was with the main army, and therefore I can't tell you any more about the surrender of Fort Watson than you know already. We encamped before Camden. It's a small village, situated on a plain, covered on the south and east sides by the Wateree and a creek, and was defended on the northern and western sides by six redoubts. The British forcer there numbered about nine hundred men; and they were commanded by Lord Rawdon, --- a brave and prudent man, be it said. Our army consisted of about nine hundred continentals, and two or three hundred militia. The General, of course, wouldn't attempt to take such a post as that by storm, or even think of investing it, with such a force as we had. So, he took post about a mile from Camden, and waited to see if the garrison would come out of their lines. We weren't disappointed. The whole British force, under the command of Lord Rawdon, came out to meet us; and from the arrangements we had made, we thought victory was certain. We encountered the British on their advance, and drove them before us, after a short conflict. While they were retreating, pursued by some of our troops, from some mistake or other, Colonel Gurley, who commanded the first Maryland regiment, ordered them to retire. That order caused our defeat; for the enemy rallied at once, on seeing the Maryland troops retire, and returned to the charge with such impetuosity, that we were forced to retire; but we did it in such order, that we brought off most of our wounded, all our artillery, and a number of prisoners we had taken. So you see the enemy didn't get anything by our retreat, except the honor of defeating us. That was a great deal, however, to General Greene. He thought the victory certain; and he had taken measures to cut off the enemy's retreat. It was a bitter disappointment, I tell you, just when we thought we had beaten the enemy, to be defeated by a mistake of an officer. But Camden seemed to be an unlucky place for us. Everything we attempted near there failed; --- not from any want of bravery or generalship, but from some cause impossible to be foreseen. The British lost about one-third of their whole force, in killed and wounded, and we lost about one-fourth. They retired to Camden, after our retreat; but Greene had taken such measures to cut off their supplies, that although they received a reinforcement of four or five hundred men, they soon evacuated Camden, and we attained the object of the previous battle. That was a specimen of Greene's generalship. He was just as active after a defeat as before the battle, and nothing could dishearten him."

"That was the whole secret of his success in the campaign," said Bill. "He gained his object sometimes while sufferin' from a defeat on the field of battle."

"But you were tellin' us how you felt on goin' into your first battle," said Bob; "how did you get along in this one?"

"Oh, boy, a man never has such feelings a second time," replied Harry. "I felt like a veteran. When I heard the roar of the artillery, and mixed in the battle, it seemed like a familiar scene to me. The bullets whistled around my ears, and it seemed like music I had heard before; and then the charge with the bayonet, when the enemy began to give way; --- I rushed upon them with as hearty a will as I ever did anything."

"Yes, and I suppose when they rallied and turned on you, you left in the same manner," said Bill.

"That's an insinuation, Bill. Of course, I wasn't sorry to get away with whole bones; but I expected to see the red-coats whipped, and didn't feel much like leaving the ground to them."

"Well," said Joe, anxious to keep Harry to the point, "go on with your story, or you won't get through before it's very late."

"Well, I left off after the battle before Camden. I'll tell you about an incident that occurred while we were encamped near that place. After the battle, desertions of the army were increasing to an alarming extent; and the General resolved to put an end to them, but putting to death any one who should be guilty of desertion, and afterwards taken. This resolve was communicated to the army; but it appears that some of the men either weren't aware of the firmness with which General Greene executed his resolutions, or else the temptations to desert were too strong. However it was, the communication of the General's resolution didn't have much effect. The men continued to desert the same as before. Greene gave orders for their capture wherever they could be found; and, accordingly, eight men were taken soon after their desertion, and the unbending Greene condemned them to be hung on one day. The army was ordered out to witness the execution, and the appointed day arrived. I shall never forget the scene presented to us, when the condemned men were allowed to take leave of their wives and children, before suffering the rigorous penalty of the crime they had committed. I call it a crime, because it appears to me to deserve that name. To desert a small army like ours, fighting for their homes, in our time of need, after a bloody battle, when we were reduced by the loss in killed and wounded, seems to me to be worthy of being called criminal. The children were clinging to the parent they were about to lose, and the women were not to be consoled, as they hung round the necks of their husbands. I could scarcely bear it myself; but the General, you know, is a man that doesn't often waver from his clear line of duty because his feelings are excited. You may have heard that, when Andre was undergoing his trial for being a spy, he asked that his punishment by hanging should be commuted to that of being shot; for he wanted to die like a soldier. All the officers were anxious to grant his request but Greene. He said that Andre was either a spy or an innocent man. If he was a spy, the laws of war prescribed the penalty; if he was an innocent man, all punishment of him was unjust; and Greene's opinion prevailed. This showed the General's unbending firmness in the execution of the clear line of duty. But I wander away from my story a little too much. The General could not be moved by any such scene. One by one, the men mounted the scaffold which had been erected, and were launched into eternity. I could only look at the first two. I could look clmly on, and see men slain in fighting with their foes in a fair field; then they died as I would wish to die myself. But to see men walk up to meet their death like dogs, by the rope, was more than agreed with my nature. I waited anxiously till the last body was cut down, and never felt so relieved in my life, as when we received the order to move from our position.

"Ah!" said bill, "I've seen some of that kind of work done myself. I know pretty near what your feelin's were like."

"What our nature revolts at so much, must be wrong," said Harry, argumentatively. "Whatever the laws of war may be, it seems to me, thatputting a man to death because he deserts, is a very foolish thing. Desertion is a crime, in some cases, as I said before; but putting the man to death doesn't make him a good soldier. They say, that uphold this punishment, that its object is to prevent the commission of the crime; and that a punishment not extending to the taking oflife wouldn't have that effect; but I don't believe it. I'd like to see it have as much of a trial as the other punishment. Then we could tell a little truer about it."

"You talk very fine," replied Bill. "I don't understand the why and wherefore of what you've been sayin', but it looks as if it would stand to reason. We ought to have a trial of other kinds of punishment, before we say that none other will do."

"I think a man ought to be hung that deserts his own colors," observed Bob. "No man worth livin' will do it. He never would do any good if he was to be let off. It's a chance if some of the men that deserted didn't go and join the red-coats that's fightin' against their countrymen; and such men as would do that ought to be strung up without a jury."

"You say he'll never do any good if he was let off," returned Harry., "How do you know that? He might become a good man, and do a thousand good actions, to make reparation for that one bad one. Men that have done the worst of actions have repented, and have done the best."

"Oh, gon on with your story," said Joe, who hated arguments.

"No; I guess we'll postpone the rest of the narrative till to-morrow night," said Harry; who, no doubt, had got to thinking on the subject of the death-penalty, and did not feel in the humor of any more story-telling that night.

"Well," said Bill, "I'm willing to go to sleep now. I've been winkin' some time. But don't forget where you left off in the story, Harry."

The fire on which the evening meal was prepared had been left to die out, and the men closed the opening in the tent, and wrapped themselves in their blankets. Two or three times, bill interrupted the gathering silence by some question propounded to Harry; but Harry seemed moody, and returned very short answers. Bill, therefore, soon got tired of questioning, and the whole party were soon wrapped in slumber.