On our march to Varna, we were encamped on the ground which had been vacated by the 79th Highlanders. Our tents were pitched, but great difficulty had been experienced in getting the sick settled in camp, and the doctors had been most terribly overworked. When the detachment of the 88th Regiment were quartered at Grenada in the West Indies, I saw mentioned in the _Gazette_ the appointment to the Connaught Rangers of a man with a very curious name, Shegog. This name haunted me, and I never took up a newspaper without reading that Shegog was appointed assistant-surgeon to the 88th. The steamer arrived early one morning at Grenada, and I was wondering what news had come from England when my servant announced, ‘Dr. Shegog.’ The doctor was a curious-looking man, with very prominent eyes, and, when he put his hat on, it was always very far back on his head; but, when we came to know him, we found that there never was a truer man than ‘Old Shay;’ no warmer heart ever beat than his. He accompanied the regiment to Nova Scotia; and after being quartered, on our return home, with me at Ashton-under-Line, he embarked with the 88th on board the _Niagara_, to proceed to Turkey, in April, 1854. When cholera attacked the light division in Bulgaria, Dr. Shegog never flagged in his attentions to the sick, while he took but little care of himself. The hospital tent was a fearful place to visit. The poor men were lying on the ground writhing in agony; crying out to be rubbed in accents most pitiful to hear. Others were too far gone to feel pain--their last hour was nearly come. ‘Old Shay’ was everywhere, and doing all in his power for the suffering soldiers. The Roman Catholic priest might be seen kneeling beside the dying men whispering hope to their passing spirits.