More Tales of the Ridings | Page 7

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