He was so near it already that he could not stop. The boat went down.
The poor tin soldier held himself as straight as he could. No one should
say of him that he had ever blinked his eyes. The boat whirled three or
four times and filled with water. It had to sink. The tin soldier stood
up to his neck in water, and deeper, deeper sank the boat. The paper
grew weaker and weaker. Now the waves went over the soldier's head. Then
he thought of the pretty little dancer whom he never was to see again,
and there rang in the tin soldier's ears:--

"Farewell, warrior! farewell!
Death shalt thou stiffer."

Now the paper burst in two, and the tin soldier fell through,--but in
that minute he was swallowed by a big fish.

Oh! wasn't it dark in there. It was worse even than under the
gutter-bridge, and besides, so cramped. But the tin soldier was
steadfast, and lay at full length, musket in hand.

The fish rushed around and made the most fearful jumps. At last he was
quite still, and something went through him like a lightning flash. Then
a bright light rushed in, and somebody called aloud, "The tin soldier!"
The fish had been caught, brought to market, sold, and been taken to the
kitchen, where the maid had slit it up with a big knife. She caught the
soldier around the body and carried him into the parlor, where everybody
wanted to see such a remarkable man who had traveled about in a fish's
belly. But the tin soldier was not a bit proud. They put him on the
table, and there--well! what strange things do happen in the world--the
tin soldier was in the very same room that he had been in before. He saw