THE NIGHT-HERON. 
101 
prevented his seeing, and where, for aught he 
knows, the alligator may be lurking. 
In calm weather, the silence of death reigns 
in the cedar swamp ; broken only by the hol- 
low screams of the heron, and the mournful 
chirp of a few smaller birds. But if the wind 
gets up it sighs plaintively amongst the 
branches ; and, as the gale increases, the tall 
stems wave to and fro, like the masts of vessels 
in a storm ; and, rubbing against each other, 
make all manner of strange noises, that you 
might fancy were the growling and roaring of 
wild beasts. 
There is a cedar swamp, thirty miles in 
length, in Virginia, known by the name of the 
Dismal Swamp; and here runaway slaves often 
take refuge, and endure all its privations and 
miseries rather than the loss of their liberty. 
The herons resort every spring to the cedar 
swamps, taking possession of their old haunts, 
and rearing their young ones. They build their 
nests on the tops of the tallest cedar trees ; and 
often repair the old dwellings, and make them 
do over again. The nest is made of sticks 
and lined with twigs, and is so large that one 
nest occupies a tree. The mother heron lays 
