I suppose if I had been thinking at all when first I undertook to write down the story I am going to tell, I should have begun by saying something to the effect that this narrative is not a work of fancy, nor of fiction — that it is strictly and literally true. But I never have had any talent for that kind of preface, and moreover it would have been awkward; for it would have given a handle to skeptics to ask me where the evidence was, and to demand proofs and witnesses — and I have no proofs and no witnesses to produce. I can only offer testimony — my own testimony. I do not care to go into the question whether my readers will accept it or not; they can do as they please.
I will merely state, then, that the narrative of which I am about to give the few remaining particulars, has always been my own story, and that I have never seen fit to invent an incident of it — not even for the purpose of making it more interesting. That, if anything, may seem a little singular; for a story which contains the possibilities of magic that this one does, would naturally have been improved very much by a little invention and picturesque elaboration. But as I have said, I never had any taste for such things.
The events themselves are strange enough. They are of such a nature that an honest man cannot invent them, and yet the people who heard them from me have always seemed disposed to treat them as if they were only good jokes; so that I finally concluded to put them down in this slow, sober way, and let them be judged by what merits they had. If they have any, time will tell. They are told without any attempt at embellishment or comment.
I shall not trouble the reader with a minute account of my early life, for it would be superfluous. I was born about the middle of the nineteenth century, in the state of Connecticut, and at the proper age I was sent to school, whipped, and promoted. I learned a great deal that I never made any use of, and forgot a great deal that I might once have made some use of. When I left school, as most young men do who leave it in the middle of the nineteenth century, I began to study a trade and the world at once; and I found that the world, though often anxious to help a man who is willing and able to help himself, sometimes sets obstacles in his way — many of them in the form of institutions and customs.
I was industrious, practical, and resourceful; and as a consequence I prospered. I became, by dint of business habits and trained observation, rather a successful man; and as the world sees success, I was a millionaire. But I never let my money be the master of me; I only used it as helpmate and tool. I had a good memory, a lively sense of humor, and a habit of not regarding things in a superstitious light. That last trait was to be of consequence to me.
There came, in due time, one of those interruptions which life keeps in store for all of us. I cannot explain the cause; I can only relate the fact. A strange accident occurred that sent me out of my time and place into another — I was hurled back into the age of chivalry, into King Arthur's England. How it happened I do not attempt to explain. I only give the story as it was told to me by my own senses.
When I found myself in that other world, which was to me as real as this, and as natural to my senses, I at once set about understanding and dealing with it by the only means I possessed — my reason and the knowledge I had acquired in my own time. I did my best to bring the light of modern practical science and industry to bear upon the darkness of medieval superstition and ignorance, and the struggles, successes, and failures that followed make up the greater part of the narrative which I now offer to the public.