While the detachment in which I had honour to serve was in camp at Aladyn, the 5th Dragoon Guards, familiarly called the "Green Horse," from the colour of their facings (cuffs and collars) being of green cloth, arrived at Varna, having come direct from Ireland in the _Himalaya_. The heavy brass helmets worn by all the Heavy Dragoon regiments were so distressing to the men, that white calico covers were issued in order to counteract the effects of the blazing sun, for which the men were deeply thankful. Some companies of the Grenadiers arrived about the same time, and so much dissatisfaction prevailed among the men in reference to the choking stock, that an order was issued for them to march without wearing them. As regards my own regiment no such order was given, as we only wear stocks when on duty even in barracks, and not having to walk and carry our own kit, like even the most crack regiments of infantry, we were content and happy enough to ride through a beautiful tract of country from our encampment at Aladyn to Devna, a little village chiefly inhabited by small farmers, who, failing to keep their pigs and turkeys without the boundary of the camp, as a natural consequence they lost many of them, and, as another natural consequence, they were constantly complaining that the soldiers _stole_ them. The turkeys being small, and the pigs queer little creatures, all at large, and far away from the village, feeding upon grass and acorns in such places, and under such circumstances, as naturally led our men to suppose they were running wild, and that they had as much right to them as any one else, they hunted them as much for the fun of catching as for that of eating them. A pig is a difficult animal to catch in an open place, and these pigs being in all but a wild state, run very fast--much faster than any I ever saw in my life. The turkeys were brought to grass with short sticks, but they were scarcely worth the trouble, as there was very little meat on their bones worth the trouble of picking off, when killed in this state before having been taken up to fatten. We had a man from the neighbourhood of Chowbent, in Lancashire, who, it was said, once, when coming off picket duty, ate one of these Bulgarian turkeys, bones, feathers, and all; but of course I cannot vouch for its truth. Of one thing I am, however, quite certain--that soldiers, when campaigning, can eat nearly twice as much victuals as is allowed them in barracks, and therefore it need not be wondered that a turkey, a goose, fowl, or pretty little grunter should mysteriously disappear at times when a regiment is stationed so near to farm villages.