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During the Civil War, it was not uncommon early in
the war for officers to be required to supply their
own mounts. That was the case for a lieutenant with
a regiment of cavalry from PA. He was impressed by
the stamina and heart of a herd of Morgans owned by
his neighbor and bought a Morgan gelding for his
cavalry mount. A year into the conflict, the unit
was engaged in a fierce battle. The lieutenant was
severely wounded and so was the gelding. Despite
his wounds, the Morgan carried his rider 3 miles
back from the front lines to an aid station. The
lieutenant survived his battle wounds but the Morgan
did not, dying at the aid station. After returning
home to convalesce from his wounds, the officer told
his wife of the courage of his mount and the belief
of his doctors that if his mount had not got him to
the aid station when he did that the man would have
died on the battlefield. The woman was so grateful
that this horse had saved her husband that she cut 3
white roses from her beloved rose bush and presented
them as a gift to her neighbor, symbolizing the 3
miles that the horse carried her husband to safety.
Ever since then, it has been considered an act of
respect to present the breeder and/or owner of a
Morgan horse with three white roses at the time of
purchase to honor the memory of that valiant horse
and the farm that raised him.
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Five years ago just around
January '92, I met an elderly gentleman named Marshall Winkler from a list
of breeders handed to me by a lovely lady (Mant Horton) from my hometown in
Vermont. From that list I had called several local breeders and
Marshall was the one who helped me. I had no idea the day I met
Marshall Winkler my whole life would change so much. Marshall had a
way of making people feel that they could do anything the wanted and he
offered so much endless support. He was definitely a strong loyal
supporter and a straight forward individual of what he believed in and I
grew over time to admire and respect this man.
Well, on May 1, 1993, I drove
down to see his spring foals and fell head over heels for a chestnut colt,
whom I named 'Mint Samson' (Jake Mint x Molly Mint) and I bought him on the
spot. Marshall worked with me on halter training, leading, and handling
Sam. For two years off and on, Marshall worked with Sam. Soon after buying
Sam, Marshall sold me a two year old filly, Mint Jasmine, so Sam would have
a companion.
Marshall also trained Jasmine to
ride and drive for me. It was very important to Marshall that I never send
either horse off to be trained professionally. He believed your own horse
should learn from you and this is how we did it.
Jasmine was a quick learner.
Marshall was kind in his methods with her. Jas would do almost
anything he asked of her. I recall one afternoon riding Jas in the
ring as Marshall instructed and observed. I was so happy - she was
sweet and willing, and I adored her. He stated to me, "as sweet
as she is now, in the wrong hands this horse could turn into a nasty one
overnight." Sad to say, Marshall was right and I lived to witness this
as I had to send her back to Marshall all broken down from cruel handling -
luckily once in his beautiful field back at Rockport, MA, running with her
mother, Amy Mint and all her other Mint family, within a week she was back
to her sweet self and I was riding her sometimes following along Marshall
driving. It was as if nothing ever happened.
Little by little I noticed
Marshall growing frail in body but his passion for his horses as strong as
ever. He would sit down in his chair and continue to coach Jas and me. He
encouraged me to ride her with others to the ocean and on trails, then he'd
want to hear everything so he could have an idea how the two of us were
doing. He was a brilliant teacher.
It was important to him to see
my two Lippitts trained and to teach me as well. I've since found out that
it's an art and few instructors can teach a green horse and green rider to
ride together. Marshall was able to do it and even make it so much fun. He
wanted to get his Lippitts known and for the owners to be happy with them.
If it wasn't for Marshall, this is a dream I would never have realized and I
will, for the rest of my life, be grateful to him for this.
One spring two years ago, I
drove down to Rockport to see Marshall's new foals. I had a feeling in my
heart that soon we'd be losing this great man as he was so frail by then.
Well, as a result I told Marshall I wanted to buy a foal and for him to pick
one out for me. He chose Mint Barb's foal, a dark colt.
I brought Sam and Jasmine to
Marshalls' Rockport farm for the last time. Only this time I had three
Lippitts. The first night there, Jake Mint jumped a fence and bred
Jasmine. I knew I could never handle four young horses. I now believe it
to be fate that Janet and Don Smith bought Mint Black Jack from me, as now
they are active with their Lippitts, as Marshall would have wanted.
As frail as Marshall was, he
made it to Wisconsin and did quite well. He was understanding when I told
him I didn't want Jas to go on such a long trip in foal.
I went to one more Lippitt show
with Marshall. This would be his last show and he stood by me and Jasmine
in the ring offering support to us. He did a lot that day and even
harnessed Amy Mint up and drove in a class. But Marshall was growing
tired. Fortunately I was able to buy my own farm in time for Jasmine to
foal. She had a most beautiful chestnut colt. I named him Jazz's Rusty
Ash.
I drove Marshall to my new farm
and he was very pleased with the colt. I hope to be breeding Jas to Jake
again.
Marshall has left a legacy
behind him. He supported his breed to the max, and encouraged and helped so
many people. I will never forget him.
by Elyse Henault
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Up from the South, at break of
day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.
And wider still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
With Sheridan twenty miles away.
But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down:
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight;
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed.
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south,
The dust like smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.
Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind;
And the steed, like a barque fed with furnace ire,
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire;
But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.
The first that the general saw were the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops;
What was to be done? what to do?--a glance told him both.
Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath,
He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say:
"I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester down to save the day."
Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan!
Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man!
And when their statues are placed on high
Under the dome of the Union sky,
The American soldier's Temple of Fame,
There, with the glorious general's name,
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright:
"Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester--twenty miles away!"
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