NAPLES 



and, as I expected, once their feet touched the 

 ground they were almost unmanageable. 

 They simply could not walk. They bucked, 

 and played, and reared, and squealed. The 

 place where we disembarked them was as 

 thickly jammed with people as is Broadway at 

 Fulton Street at the noon hour. Beside the 

 crowd there was a switch engine running up 

 and down past the docks. That added to their 

 fears. 



The horses had been lowered in their boxes 

 from the steamer to a barge, but when the 

 Customs Dock was reached it was necessary 

 to take the animals out of their boxes and lead 

 them on the dock. Then the boxes were 

 brought on to the dock and the horses had to 

 be led into them again. That sounds easy. It 

 was simple enough to do it in Alexandretta 

 when the horses were tired out with their long 

 trip. Now they had had two weeks' rest and 

 plenty of food. 



The boxes were made of soft wood and it 

 seemed as if the excited animals would kick 

 them to pieces. The men on the barges were 

 bringing the horses ashore too fast and we had 

 more than our hands full. The brown stallion, 

 the Maneghi Sbeyel, our pride, had torn out 



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