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.