Rev. Mr. King, at present pastor of the Lone Star Baptist Church, at Chepstow, Kansas, prepared the following interesting paper for this work. The subject is well treated, although it claims to be a plain, unvarnished tale:

     "My grandfather, Asahel King, was born in Massachusetts, Sept. 15, 1781. In the 12th year of his age he was hired to go as a drummer in the State militia. He was drum-major in the war of 1812. His company was ordered to Sacket's Harbor in 1814. Before it got there the British surrendered. An important event happened at the harbor, which is worthy of record. As the British were surrounding the harbor, led by their general, and shouting 'the victory is ours,' the American soldiers were few in numbers and expected defeat' a young boy lay sick in a log cooper shop; but seeing the danger, he leveled his musket at the general fired, and he fell dead. The British became terrified, and supposing the building to be full of soldiers, they fled in dismay. This, added to other defeats, proved to be a great event in the closing of the war. This was in 1814.

     "My grandfather had eight daughters and four sons. He moved from Lafayette, N. Y., to Rives, Jackson County, Mich., in 1837. He was a tanner and currier, also a shoemaker and a farmer. His boys were all farmers here except my uncle, Asahel King, who lived on a farm at Cardiff, Onondaga Co., N. Y., where the famous Cardiff Giant was exhumed.

     "When my father and grandfather settled here, Michigan was a wilderness; no clearing for miles around; the wolves howled around during the night, and Indians prowled about by day; they suffered for food, they lost cattle, etc.; they used to go to Detroit for all their provisions and to sell their wheat, etc., driving oxen instead of horses, and there sold their wheat for 35 cents per bushel. Jackson was only a small village then. My father has often mired fast in Main Street, his oxen not being able to extricate the wagon.

     "When grandfather came here in 1836, in company with Horace G Cole, the soldiers were just returning from the Toledo War. Of course they had done 'exploits.' My father had been all through Michigan to Chicago, the year before, in company with two other men named Caleb Jackson and Hiram Anderson (I believe); they rode Indian ponies, going through Canada on their return to New York. When my father returned to his wilderness home he was yet a single man, in 1838. He was married to Miss Rebecca Emily Smith, daughter of John Smith, who came from Dover, England. Mr. Milton J. Draper was then justice of the peace, and he married our parents according to the Methodist rule, which ceremony occupied a whole hour.

     "When father was living in his log house, and my brother Jefferson was about eight years old, a black bear came into his woodshed and tried to get a calf-skin hanging there. My brother thought it was a dog, and whistled to call it. My father shot at it, but it only shook itself and ran off. One day when my mother was alone, two large, fat deer came and stood side by side in front of the door and very near. A rifle was loaded in the house, but she dared not shoot it, although they needed meat very badly. Father often started large herds of deer away from his cellar while digging it. He shot a large turkey just where he built his house; the turkey -an his head into a brush heap and supposed he was safe.

     "The Indians were all around and often came for something to eat. When they were through eating they always took all the food from the table, away in their blankets. Mother was often frightened at night when alone, by some old Indian looking at her through the window. The young Indians used to steal corn for roasting then hide it (as they supposed) under their blankets; every now and then an ear would drop; they would conceal it again as soon as they could.

     "The wolves used to howl terribly at night. In the winter of 1837 they killed and ate an Indian, near the corner of Tompkins, Eaton Rapids, Springport and Onondaga townships. He backed up against a tree and fought with his hatchet until he killed seven wolves; then he was overpowered. His hatchet, some of his clothing and part of his body and the wolves were soon found. Many others made very narrow escapes.

     "Once father went to Detroit with a load of wheat. He sold it and bought five barrels of vinegar. He started home; but a storm set in and he was obliged to leave his vinegar with an 'honest' farmer, who was to sell it for him and send him the money. He sold it, but never yet sent the money. This was a great loss. I suppose that man will say, on the day of judgment, 'Here is your vinegar.'

     "Twenty-three years ago last fall our atmosphere was so smoky that it was very difficult to see any distance. Travelers used bells on their teams to avoid collisions. It made tears come in the eyes, the fish large and small died in the streams, etc. It was caused by fires in the forests of Michigan and Canada.

     "Jan. 1, 1864, 17 years ago, was the coldest day on record in our State. The night before we attended a war meeting, and on going home at 11 o'clock it was raining; by daylight it was exceedingly cold. Some people froze to death. Cattle, sheep and poultry were also found dead. Very little work was done, except to feed and run the stock to keep them from freezing.

     "In March, 1868, we had one of the heaviest snow falls in the remembrance of our settlers. It came on Sunday night. I will relate an instance of interest to many of our young people and some who are older. Eleven of our young Americas left Rives in a sleigh for Jackson, to attend service at the Baptist church and see some friends baptized. When we got our load gathered and were about two miles from our community, the snow began to come down by measure. It was not very cold. We stopped to debate whether we would go on or not. The majority said, 'Go.' So go it was. I had my team. The storm raged so that we were very late in town. We went to the Marion House, and warmed, put the team in the barn, then went to the church just as the last candidate came 'up out of the water.' We went back to the hotel and waited for the storm to abate, but it raged terribly. We staid all night. In the morning there was six feet of snow on a level. We got breakfast and started for Rives. We got in the community, a distance of eight miles, just at sunset. We were a hungry set, tired and forlorn. We fed our team and had supper at Rev. Mr. Osborn's. We then commenced to distribute our load, and we finally got to my mother's about 11 o'clock at night, having driven over fences, etc.; but I could not get near the house; so I got my brother-in-law to carry 'my girl' to the house in his arms. The next day I took her home on horse-back. We got into a gravel pit, climbed fences, etc., but I landed her safe at home, her parents fancying that we were all buried in the snow.

     "During the Civil war a great many of my cousins and some uncles enlisted. In one family of eight boys, five were soldiers. They were the sons of Charles and Lucy Smith, of North Plains, Ionia Co. Uncle Charles went to Memphis, Tenn., to care for three of them. He died about two weeks after his arrival there. I had three cousins, sons of Horace S. and Lucinda Cole, who served all through the Rebellion. Again, two cousins, sons of John H. and Amanda King, were among the first to enlist. They came home after re-enlisting. One of them, David Marion King, was Sergeant in Co. E., 3rd. Michigan Cavalry. He went back, and soon after, while going through a piece of woods with a small squad of men, they were attacked by 'bushwhackers', and as they ran down a hill, my cousin's horse fell in a miry place called a bayou; the last ever seen of him by our 'boys in blue,' he was under his horse, struggling to extricate himself. Soon after our boys returned and searched diligently for him, but he was gone; we have never heard from him since. He is the only cousin out of many but that came home at the close of the war. Any information concerning him would be gladly received by the relatives. I think he died as a prisoner in Libby or Andersonville prisons.