Sam Ineson and Jerry Coggill were seasoned soldiers long before the Palestine campaign began. They had spent two winters in the trenches of France and Flanders, and when the news reached them that their battalion had been chosen to reinforce General Allenby's army in Egypt, they took it as a compliment. Pestilence, murder, and sudden death might be in store for them, but they would at any rate escape trench warfare, with all its attendant horrors and discomforts. Their comrades at divisional head-quarters gave them a good send-off. "Remember us to Pharaoh," they said, "and you can send us a few mummies for Christmas; they'll do for mascots."

The two soldiers, who were Yorkshire farmers' sons, and knew every inch of the Craven country, from Malham Cove to Kilnsey Crag, had joined the Egyptian army just as it was preparing to cross the desert on its way to the Holy Land. They had taken part in the great victory at Beersheba, and then, driving the Turks before them over the mountains of Judea, had finally stormed the fortifications of Hebron. Elated by their success, their hope was that their battalion would be allowed to press forward at once so that they might spend Christmas Day in Jerusalem. In this they were disappointed. Other battalions were chosen for this proud undertaking, and when General Allenby entered the Holy City in triumph Sam and Jerry were still in the neighbourhood of Hebron, engaged in repairing the fortifications and restoring order.

At last the command came to advance. They were, however, to proceed in small parties, and to share in an enveloping movement among the hills. Small detachments of Turkish soldiers were known to be lurking among the limestone terraces between Hebron and Jerusalem, and their duty was to break these up by means of guerrilla warfare, and prevent surprise attacks descending at night from the hills on to the army's communication lines.

The two Yorkshiremen, accustomed all their lives to the shepherding of Swaledale ewes among their native moors, were well qualified for this task. The limestone hills of Judea bear a striking resemblance to the Craven highlands, and Sam and Jerry had a practised eye for hiding-places among the rocks, as well as for the narrow sheep-tracks which lead from one limestone terrace to another. In the course of the next fortnight they rounded up many bands of ragged Turkish soldiers, and were steadily driving the rest before them in a northerly direction. By 24th December they were within five miles of Jerusalem, and the hope that they might yet reach their goal on Christmas Day came back once more to their minds.

But it was not to be. The morning of the 24th found them near the source of one of the many wadies which, after the rains of November and December, rush in torrents through the boulder-strewn valleys, and empty themselves into the Dead Sea. The morning broke clear, but, as the day advanced, a thick mist descended from the hills and made progress difficult. But the ardour of the men, now that the goal was almost in sight, was such that it was impossible to hold them back. In small pickets they climbed the steep hill-sides, penetrated through the groves of olive, fig and pomegranate trees which clothe the successive tiers of limestone terraces, and reached the high plateau above. But at every step upwards the hill-mist grew thicker, and, in spite of all attempts to keep together, the pickets of soldiers became split up. When four o'clock arrived, Sam and Jerry found themselves alone on the hills and completely ignorant of their bearings. The short winter day was drawing to a close, and they were in danger of being benighted among the Judean uplands on Christmas Eve. They determined to make a descent to the point from which they had started in the morning, but, after an hour's wandering in the mist, found themselves no nearer their goal. Darkness was now creeping swiftly upon them, and they realised the dangers of a fall over one of the terraced cliffs.

"We're fair bet," said Jerry at last. "There'll be nea Chrissamas dinner for us to-morn i' Jerusalem, I reckon."

"Thou's reight," replied Sam; "we sall hae to bide here while t' mist lifts, an' do t' best we can for wersels. Bully-beef an' biscuit is what we'll git for wer dinners, an' there'll be nea sittin' ower t' fire at efter, watchin' t' Yule-clog burn, an' eytin' spice-loaf an' cheese."

"Nivver mind, lad, we've had a cappin' time sin we set out on t' march to Jerusalem, an' if we wasn't here we'd happen be up to wer oxters i' Flanders muck."

"Aye, we've noan done sae badly," Sam Ineson agreed, "and we sall hae summat to crack about when we git back to Wharfedale, choose how. Thou'll hae to tak a Sunday schooil class at Gerston, Jerry, an' tell t' lads all about Solomon's pools, where we catched them Turks, an' t' tomb o' t' Prophet Samuel anent Hebron."

"Nay, I reckon t' lang settle at t' Anglers' Arms will be more i' my line. But we're noan through wi' t' job yet awhile."

After this conversation, uttered in whispers, for fear lest their presence should be disclosed to any Turks lurking in the neighbourhood, the two soldiers took shelter under the lee of a limestone crag, drew their overcoats tightly around them, and proceeded to eat their rations. The prospect of spending a night on the uplands of Judea in a driving mist did not dismay them. They had fared worse many a night in France and Flanders, and also knew what it was to be benighted on the Yorkshire moors. Moreover, they were tired after their wanderings among the hills, and it was not long before they fell fast asleep.

Jerry was awakened after a while by a familiar sound close to his ear. He drew himself up and listened, then burst into a laugh, and roused his fellow.

"Eh! Sam," he said, "thou mun wakken up. We reckon we're sodgers; we're nowt o' t' sort; sure enough, we're nobbut shipperd lads."

Sam sat up and listened. The sound of a sheep's cough close at hand met his ear, and, straining his eyes, he saw a whole flock of sheep browsing the short grass around him.

"That caps iverything I've heeard tell on," he exclaimed. "Chrissamas Eve an' two shipperd lads frae Wharfedale keepin' watch ower their flock by neet i' t' Holy Land. An' accordin' to what Sergeant said, Bethlehem sud not be sae vara far away frae here."

The situation in which the two shepherds found themselves touched their imaginations, and they ceased to regret that they were in danger of missing a Christmas Day at Jerusalem. They listened to the sheep for a time, until the cry of a jackal startled the animals, and the flock dispersed. Then the two soldiers fell asleep once more.

Shortly before midnight they awoke with a sudden start. A strange light gleamed in their faces, and the mist had almost vanished. The hill-sides and the sky above were bathed in a pearly light, while almost immediately above them they beheld a city, as it were let down from heaven and suspended in mid-air, beset with domes and minarets that flashed like jewels in the marvellous radiance that flooded all space.

"A miracle! A miracle!" Sam Ineson exclaimed, in awe-struck tones, and then held his breath, for a familiar song broke upon his ears. From the sky, or from the battlements of the aerial city, he knew not which, there rang forth the great Nativity hymn:

While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The Angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.

Jerry Coggill looked into the face of Sam Ineson and saw there an expression of trance-like rapture. As though moved by a common impulse, the two soldiers sprang to attention, saluted, and, when the hymn ceased, fell on their knees in prayer. Then the mist closed on them again, the city among the clouds was hidden from view, and the sky lost its translucence. But sleep was no longer possible for the soldiers. They were as men who had seen the invisible; it was as though heaven had descended upon them and the glory of the new-born King had gleamed in their eyes, and they were filled with a holy awe.

Next morning the mist had cleared, and the miracle was explained. The spot which they had chosen for their resting-place was at the foot of the great scarp of limestone upon which stands the city of Bethlehem, two thousand five hundred feet above the sea. The city had passed, without the shedding of a drop of blood, into the hands of General Allenby, and the soldiers stationed there, inspired by the associations of the place and the Christmas season, had left their barracks shortly before midnight, and, proceeding to the officers' quarters, had greeted them with a hymn. And the Christmas moon, rising high above the mountains of Gilead and Moab, had found for a short space of time an opening in the curtain of mist and had poured down its light upon the hills of Judea, making the city of Bethlehem seem to the rapt minds of the two Yorkshire dalesmen as though it had been the city of the living God let down from heaven.