A Canoe In the Mist by Elsie Locke Page B

for it, said Joe to himself wearily as he faced the stairs and saw them leaning sideways; heard a cracking sound above, looked up and saw the ceiling bulge towards him.
    ‘Stand away!’ he bawled as if this was a wild beast facing him, and seized the banister, and swung himself down, hand over hand, dropping the lantern.
    The ceiling broke open. Mud, stones and pieces of roof poured through, the stairs gave way and Joe was hurled forward on to his hands and knees in a clatter of broken timber. A door opened and Bridget’s voice rose in a high-pitched wail:
    ‘The boss is killed! Oh, what’s to become of us, the boss is killed!’
    Joe raised his head, drew what air he could into his lungs—that foul, sulphurous air—and bawled with allthe strength he could muster, ‘No, no! Don’t worry, there’s life in the old dog yet!’
    ‘And the young dog too,’ said Willie Bird with a chuckle as Lollop, whining anxiously, tried to get to his master.
    The men were lifting the timber off Joe’s back, getting in each other’s way with the door jammed half open making it hard to shift the pieces. He straightened up, saw the faces crowding to watch, full of concern; looked up and saw the ceiling beginning to give way here too. ‘Hold back!’ he shouted, ‘hold back, for God’s sake!’ and shooed them before him like a flock of poultry, into the farthest corner.
    They were very close together.
    ‘I’m sound and whole, never fear,’ said Joe. ‘We can’t stay here. We’ll try the drawing room, for that’s the newest part of the house and the strongest, though a little cramped and no drinks for the thirsty.’
    ‘We can’t get through the corridor,’ said Mr Humphreys.
    ‘Aye, but there’s the verandah. It’s blowing a gale out there but we’ve only a few steps to go.’
    ‘Come on men, help us get the French doors open,’ sang out Willie Bird.
    It took a lot of effort to push them open against the weight of mud, to shove the stuff aside and edge the gap steadily wider. The icy-cold, evil-smelling wind surged into the room. Bridget bustled about, making sure people hadhats and jackets and shawls and rugs, beating out the last embers of the open fire.
    ‘We’ll form a chain,’ shouted Joe. ‘Protect your heads. Hold on to the coat tails of the one in front. Men, space yourselves out between the women and children. Charlie, you come last. Count them and give a shout when you’re ready.’
    After some shuffling Charlie answered, ‘Twenty-one including the baby. Are we leaving the dog?’
    ‘No, no!’ cried several voices. ‘I’ll look after him,’ Lillian volunteered.
    ‘No, Lillian, you’ll hang on to the one in front like I said. Lollop must look after himself. Everybody ready? Right then.’
    Joe set off, breaking out a track through the muck with his strong legs, fighting the wind, taking no notice of the flying rocks and fireballs, till he stood by the entrance that led to the drawing room. He had judged rightly. This part of the hotel was standing firm. Cracking, crashing and tearing sounds from the broken roof came after them, mingled with the thudding and whistling and hissing of the mud and stones, noises more intrusive through their nearness than the everlasting roar of the craters.
    He counted as the chain passed him, making them say their names. They had to feel their way in. There could be no light at all until Charlie came with the lantern. Moans, gasps, curses and prayers marked out the different people.
    Lillian waited towards the end of the line. Ahead of her was Mr Stubbs, ahead of him her mother. Behind her was Tamati pulling so hard on her shawl that it came free. ‘No, it’s my dress you hang on to,’ she said, and showed him how. His hand was trembling. ‘Courage,’ she said. His grandfather behind him said something in Maori which might have meant the same thing.
    She put the shawl over her head and knotted it tightly. Her heart was thumping with impatience. It was going