Stories of Salem: The Day the Truebloods Died

SPONSORSHIP NOTE: Stories of Salem is made possible through the assistance and resources of the John Hay Center, located at 307 E. Market Street in Salem. Open Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays from 10 to 5, they are an invaluable source of information for anyone interested in the history of their hometown. Learn more at johnhaycenter.org!

---

Everyone, at some point, wonders how their life will end. Many imagine a quiet passing, perhaps in old age, surrounded by family. Some even dream of slipping away at the same time as a beloved spouse — a romantic idea, but one that almost never happens. And yet, one quiet day in Salem in 1906, Samuel and Priscilla Trueblood did exactly that.

Samuel and Priscilla Trueblood in the late 1800s.

Samuel was born December 19, 1821, just three miles northeast of the Friends church where his funeral was held. Priscilla (née Wilson) was born on May 17, 1824, on the very farm where she would spend nearly her entire life. The two were married on August 12, 1845, and together they raised eight children, six of whom survived them at the time of their passing.

The funeral record from that Sunday service described their union as, “For sixty years they lived together in mutual love and happiness, a shining example to all who knew them.”

An AI reconstruction of Samuel and Priscilla.

Samuel was both a farmer and a prominent figure in the Quaker community, having been recommended as a minister in 1865. According to the obituary remarks, he was known for his plainspoken manner and commitment to visit individual meetings across the Western Yearly Meeting. It was noted that he had attended every yearly session from 1858 onward, only stopping when age and infirmity made it impossible. The eulogy credited him with a “clear, crisp” speaking style, one that “people were attracted [to] as well as convinced.”

The obituary for Samuel and Priscilla in a 1906 newspaper. Courtesy of The John Hay Center.

At home, however, Samuel was deeply rooted in the land. He was a methodical farmer and a close observer of the natural world. “He lived to study fruits and plants,” the record noted, “and was better informed in their various characteristics than many a collegiate Professor.” His love of animals was sincere, but it was birds that fascinated him most. He could name every species in the area, identify their habits, and took clear joy in their presence.

To those close to him, it seemed as though the sentiment from the wildlife was mutual. The obituary goes on to read:

“In the very last hour of his life, as death was claiming him, a little feathered songster perched just outside the window where he lay and caroled its sweetest notes, as if to cheer its friend as he pressed the fatal chrism to his lips. In a few minutes after he breathed his last, a dove in the fruit orchard softly sang its mournful song as if to give the music as the angels bore his soul away. Who can say the Holy Spirit did not prompt his feathered friends?”

Priscilla’s final hours were marked by calm clarity. Samuel had fallen unconscious before he died, but Priscilla remained lucid, speaking openly with her children and sharing what would be her final reflections. She told them that she and their father had for years prayed to leave the world together. She asked that the song “The Beautiful Land” be sung, and afterward said simply, “Glory be to God in the Highest, Glory to God.” A moment later, she said, “I am so happy in the love of Jesus.” And finally, as she slipped away, “We’ll all be there.”

The funeral record concludes, “The lives of this faithful pair was their greatest and best sermon. There [sic] example in all these many years has been a benediction to this neighborhood and daily instruction to a better life. Though their bodies are still in death, their lives are still speaking, calling us, each and all, from Earth to Heaven. May no one fail to hear and heed the call. In their lives they were altogether lovely, and in death, they were not parted.”

While many of the stories told in this column have centered on violent, mysterious, or incredible events that shook Washington County to its core, the Truebloods’ story is rooted in the everyday — a marriage of sixty years, a life built on faith, labor, and community. Their passing together may not have been extraordinary, but it is a rare kind of harmony, one that deserves to be remembered. In a world that seems to grow faster and louder with each passing year, the legacy of Samuel and Priscilla, quiet though it may be, offers us a different kind of wisdom — a reminder that some of the most meaningful stories are also the simplest.