then , as he wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland , to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered , every sound of nature , at that witching hour , fluttered his excited imagination , -- the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside , the boding cry of the tree toad , that harbinger of storm , the dreary hooting of the screech owl , or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost .