The Haunted Woods
Of Raleigh
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oxtraordinar.v story of buriod
treasures violence and a phantom
stallion who guarded William
Poole's beloved pines.
By PATRICIA EDWARDS CLYISE
Late last year, when newspapers
across the nation reported a noisy
ghost had invaded the home of a Ra¬
leigh resident, some readers were
amazed that in this modern day the
capital of North Carolina could be the
scene of such supernatural goings-on.
But in modern times as well as in the
past. Raleigh has played host to many a
ghost, including one that was periodi¬
cally seen for nearly a century along
Poole Road, which begins just a few
blocks east of the State Capitol build¬
ing. This was no ordinary ghost, either.
For behind its apparitional appear¬
ances lay the even more remarkable
story of a very real man whose courage
and concern for conservation made
him a legend in his own time.
Born on a Wake County farm in
17%. William R. Poole possessed a
knowledge and love of the land that
enabled him to parlay a mere fifty cents
into vast property holdings in and
around Raleigh. But even greater than
his love of the land was his love for the
trees which grew upon it. especially
one tract of sky-scratching pines that
were already old when he was still
young.
Every day at 5 P.M., Poole would
ride his favorite white horse among the
softly scented pines, always on the
lookout for trespassers who might
harm his treasured trees. For even in
that far-off day. William Poole was
aware that America's woodlands were
in danger of being obliterated by
short-sighted, profit-minded loggers
who indiscriminately felled whole
forests, caring little that future genera¬
tions might inherit a denuded land.
Yankee Raiders
It is said that William Poole patrolled
these woods even after his death in
1889. and more than one person re¬
ported seeing his ghost riding a white
20
horse. It was. they said, the same
horse which had been stolen from him
during the Civil War. when Union sol¬
diers staged a brutal raid on Poole's
estate.
At the time of the raid. William
Poole was nearly 70 years old. but ad¬
vanced age had not weakened the re¬
sourcefulness and iron determination
that had so well served him in his rise
to prosperity. Hearing that the Yan¬
kees were heading in the direction of
his estate. Poole buried his valuables
deep within the woods, where he also
tethered his beloved white horse.
When the Union soldiers rode up to
the front porch of his two-storied white
mansion. William Poole was there to
meet them. Coolly regarding them
from the chair in which he sat. Poole
listened to their demands for his gold.
Then just as coolly he informed them
that he had no gold to give them.
Whether they had heard stories of
Poole's wealth, or merely judged he
had money from the appearance of his
home, the soldiers were adamant.
Warning Poole that he would either
give up his gold or give up his life, the
Yankees once more demanded the el¬
derly man’s money.
Poole was equally adamant. Even
when the butt of a Yankee pistol
bashed in the bridge of his nose, the
iron will did not waver. The blood-
smeared lips remained closed.
Deciding that what a beating hadn’t
accomplished, breathlessness might,
the soldiers then hung Poole to a
nearby tree. Moments passed, and ex¬
cept for strangled gasps from his
rope-bound throat, William Poole
made no sound.
Left To Die
Greed prevented the marauders
from carrying out their murderous
plan, but they were far from finished
Thiigiont thortlcof pine wot still Hooding in Poole's
Woods in 1928, when Extension Forester R. W.
Grocbcr took this photogroph. One of the lew trocts
ol virgin timber left in North Corolino of thot time,
its peocelul beauty gove no hint ol the violence ond
eerie events which hod token piece beneath the
towering trees. (Photos courtesy: Fronces Holloway
Wynne)
with their torture of the silent South¬
erner. Setting Poole astraddle a rail
they had pulled from a fence, the sol¬
diers "rode’’ the agonized man to the
mill he had built not far from his house.
Once there, although his eyes were fast
swelling shut from the injury done his
nose. William Poole was forced to
watch as his tormentors set fire to the
mill.
"There is still time to save the mill."
the Yankees told him. as the flames
roared up. "Just tell us where you hid
your gold, and we’ll put out the fire."
The brown boards glowed orange,
then ashen, and finally charcoal black
as the structure collapsed. But that
was the only sound. No words had
come from William Poole.
Exasperated and exhausted, with
time running short for when they were
to rejoin the main body of soldiers, the
marauders gave up trying to get the old
man to reveal his secret. Leaving him
to die, they fanned out in the 4voods.
hoping to find some sign of recent dig¬
ging that would indicate the place the
gold had been buried.
The soldiers never did find the gold,
THE STATE, May 19»2
