Harry Gilmor

Colonel Harry Gilmor was born at Glen Ellen, the homestead of his father, the late Robert Gilmor, in Baltimore county, on January 24, 1838. His mother was Miss Ellen Ward, daughter of Judge William Ward, of Wilmington, Del. He was educated by a private tutor, and lived at his father's farm until the breaking out of the war, when, with a number of other adventuresome young Marylanders, who were advocates of rebellion, he went South and joined the Confederate army. His gallant career during the war is a matter of national history, and finds no part in this work. At the close of the war, Colonel Gilmor returned to Baltimore and engaged in business until 1872, when he was elected a Police Commissioner, his term beginning in 1873. During his service he was mainly instrumental in introducing tactics and discipline into the city police force. The good effects of his innovations were evidenced during the riots of 1877, at which time Colonel Gilmor's bravery and coolness did much towards protecting property and life from the mob. He served until 1878, when he resigned and was succeeded by Mr. Milroy. Colonel Gilmor, in 1875, lost one of his eyes, the ball being excised without chloroform. During the long and painful operation he showed great nerve, never wincing under the lancet. In the autumn of 1882 a cancerous affection appeared on the side of Colonel Gilmor's face, the result of a wound in the jaw which he received during the war. After several months of intense suffering he died on March 4, 1883. His funeral was one of the greatest ever seen in Baltimore. Shortly after the close of the war Colonel Gilmor wrote his book, "Four Years in the Saddle," which Prince Hohenlohe, of Prussia, pronounced one of the greatest cavalry stories ever written, and ordered it translated into German. A monument to the memory of Colonel Gilmor was recently erected by the police force and the Confederate soldiers of Baltimore. - "Our police: A history of the Baltimore force from the first watchman to the latest appointee" by De Francias Folsom, 1888.

Turning half round in my saddle to call on the men I received a sudden shock, and felt deathly sick, and, at the same instant, saw a man trail his gun and run off. I killed him before he had gone three steps. His ball had passed through two coats, and stuck in a pack of cards in my left side-pocket; they were quite new, the wrapper not even having been broken open. The suits were each distinct; the bullet passed through all, stopping at the last, which was the ace of spades! and to this day, whenever Rosser sees me, he asks " if spades are trumps." - Harry Gilmor "Four Years in the Saddle"

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