A Miracle

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.

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