The eclipse ruse part 1

“Are these other people in their right minds?”

He said they were.

“And this isn’t an asylum?  I mean, it isn’t a place where they cure crazy people?”

He said it wasn’t.

“Well, then,” I said, “either I am a lunatic, or something just as awful has happened.  Now tell me, honest and true, where am I?”

“In King Arthur’s Court.”

I waited a minute, to let that idea shudder its way home, and then said:

“And according to your notions, what year is it now?”

“528—nineteenth of June.”

I felt a mournful sinking at the heart, and muttered:  "I shall never see my friends again—never, never again.  They will not be born for more than thirteen hundred years yet.”

I seemed to believe the boy, I didn’t know why.  Something in me seemed to believe him—my consciousness, as you may say; but my reason didn’t.  My reason straightway began to clamor; that was natural.  I didn’t know how to go about satisfying it, because I knew that the testimony of men wouldn’t serve—my reason would say they were lunatics, and throw out their evidence.  But all of a sudden I stumbled on the very thing, just by luck.  I knew that the only total eclipse of the sun in the first half of the sixth century occurred on the 21st of June, A.D. 528, O.S., and began at 3 minutes after 12 noon.  I also knew that no total eclipse of the sun was due in what to me was the present year—i.e., 1879. So, if I could keep my anxiety and curiosity from eating the heart out of me for forty-eight hours, I should then find out for certain whether this boy was telling me the truth or not.