When you begin to search out the history of black citizens in Gettysburg, you inevitably come to Basil Biggs and then to Maggie Palm. In the pre-war and war years, residents often called her Maggie Blue Coat for the blue military uniform coat she wore while helping runaways on the Underground Railroad. You will certainly encounter the following picture.

You will certainly also read of the attempt by local and Maryland kidnappers to force her South and sell her into slavery. The following by David Schick is commonly cited:

“She lived up Long Lane, back of the old fair grounds. On this occasion she was attacked by a group of men who made the attempt to kidnap her and take her south where they expected to sell her and derive quite a profit. She was a powerful woman, and they would have, from the sale, derived quite a profit. These men succeeded in tying Mag’s hands . . . She was fighting them as best as she could with her hands tied. She would attempt to slow them and succeeded in one instance in catching [an attacker’s] thumb in her mouth and bit the thumb off. John Karseen, who was crippled and ran a novelty shop on Baltimore Street, happened along at just the right time and by using his crutch was able to assist Mag in her fight with these kidnappers and drove them off and freed her from her bonds.”

You might get a note about how she was generally poor, lived on the outskirts of town on Long Lane, worked as a washerwoman and rug beater for various households. And then, the stories fade, leaving us to believe, “And she lived happily ever after.”

Margaret’s story is far more complex, and it reflects the challenges that grinding poverty and trauma had on her and her family. Born in Maryland, Margaret, or Maggie as most would call her, is difficult to trace until adulthood. In one place, her maiden name is given as Divit; in another, it’s Foot. The first census she appears in is 1860, and by then, she was already married to Alfred Palm. That and every census thereafter lists her as mulatto—she had both white and black heritage, no doubt from sexual exploitation common on plantations.

The 1860 Census appears innocuous enough, and yet, it fails to show the turmoil the Palms had already experienced. The effects of the poverty the Palms faced is clear in a sentence Alfred had to serve in the infamous Eastern Pennsylvania correctional facility for larceny. Note the details in the original record: a barber who could not read or write, a scar on his right cheek, “occasionally intemperate” in his disposition.

By the time of the 1860 census, Alfred and Margaret had married, and they reported a one-year-old son named Joseph. Alfred reported his occupation as brick maker, while Maggie noted that she worked for a hotel.

The problems would not end there.

In 1866, Alfred’s “intemperate” disposition was again a problem, as he was arrested, tried, and convicted for assault and battery. Meanwhile, Maggie worked long, grueling hours around the town to try to make ends meet and to feed a family going through serious challenges. We cannot be sure, but by the 1870 Census, Joseph Palm had disappeared from the household, signaling he may have died in childhood. By the 1880 Census, the family had two more children: a son, Alfred (nine in 1880), and a daughter, Sarah (six).

But the Palms didn’t get to 1880 without a near tragedy. A small article in 1879 shows us the extreme mental anguish Margaret suffered.

Alfred survived this incident, grew up, married a woman named Annie, and passed away in 1928 in the Gettysburg area. And Margaret? We know nothing of Margaret’s birth. Other than her final resting place, we know nothing of her death—not even the date. And except for an anecdote here and there, we know precious little about an extraordinary life full of challenge, hardship, and tragedy. But we do know one thing: she fought.