Rembrandt De Lange

By George M. Goodwin

From early in his life, Rembrandt 'Rem' de Lange had one thing in mind. He meant to find the renegade Union soldiers that had murdered his family. He never thought he would become hunted himself for a cowardly crime that he wasn't guilty of. Or for a girl who would side with him to prove his innocence. He would also find out that it really is a small world. Especially when you have enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pale Horse Publications
• Release date: May 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224559237

George M. Goodwin

George was born in 1960 in Jefferson County Alabama. The fifth of nine children, eight boys and one girl. The family was raised poor, but not poorly raised. At home, George was taught morals, ethics and respect. Reading, writing and arithmetic at school. Love, honor and obedience to God at church. He grew up on John Wayne movies, country music and the writings of Louis L' Amour, Robert Louis Stevenson, H.G. Wells and Jules Verne.  

Book preview

Rem Lange

Rem Lange rode into Austin, Texas in the heat of the day. The last time he’d slept in a bed or had eaten a meal that he hadn’t fixed for himself was ten days ago. Yeah, there had been other towns in between New Orleans and Austin, but there had also been people there and he hadn’t been in the mood for people. Not that he didn’t normally like people. As a general rule, he did. But he had killed two men back in New Orleans in a gun fight. 

All those years of practice had made him unbelievably fast and very accurate. What they hadn’t done was prepare him for how to handle it mentally. It was the first time he had killed anybody. It had been a fair shooting in front of plenty of witnesses. But the law still always had questions about what had started it and such. and he had no desire to answer those questions that was he figured his business not the sheriff’s. So, he had just saddled his horse and rode out. Rem Lange was eighteen years old at that time, six foot tall, with dark hair and eyes. 

CHAPTER 1

He had been raised to keep his appearance neat and had never failed at doing so for any length of time. He weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. Most of it packed in his chest and shoulders from his years of hard work. Everything he owned in the world he was either wearing or that old horse of his carried right then. That had not always been the case, though. He had been born Rembrandt de Lange on a thousand acre plantation just south of Charleston, South Carolina. His father and mother had both been Dutch, born in the old country. They had come to America to make their fortune. His father had come here with the last of some old family money, intending to rebuild their fortunes of the past with it. Soon after arriving, he had purchased the large plantation and its considerable amount of land. 

That was where his sister, and then he, had been born. He had been schooled in the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic and was being raised the way the son of a proper southern gentleman should be. His parents had told him that he had been named for some ancestor of theirs who had been a famous artist. The only talent he’d found in himself so far was the art of survival. At five he had been taught to ride. He had ridden across the acreage with his father many times and saw the hands working in the fields.

CHAPTER 2

Rembrandt remembered his father telling him once that the men and women working there were his property. He was too young to understand at that time. Although he would soon form his own opinion, and that was to be that no man should own or hold against their will any other man woman or child.

His father, however, was not of that opinion. So, when the war between the states had begun in 1861, his father had joined the Confederate Army. Although the war wasn’t just about the ownership of slaves, that was a big part of it. His father knew that it was the only way he could possibly keep the many acres he owned.

Rembrandt was just a nine year old kid caught in the middle. He was too young to fight in the war and this was a good thing. For if he were old enough to do so, he may have had to face his own father on the battle field. He was too young to fight their war but not be affected by it. 

His father had joined up saying he must go and do his part. His part in the war, as it turned out, had lasted just nine months before he was severely wounded. Losing both of his legs and receiving severe damage to his brain from the blast of a cannon ball, he had been sent home to live out his final days with his family. In the summer of 1862 Rem was ten years old, but had been forced to become a man very quickly.

CHAPTER 3

His privileged life as the son of a rich plantation owner was gone. His mother and his fifteen year old sister had their hands full taking care of his father and putting a meal on the table. The slaves were all gone. The acres and acres of crops were gone. There had been several battles close to their home. Some of the fields were so badly destroyed by battle that Rem wondered if they would ever grow anything again. All the crops were gone except a small house garden that Rem took care of himself. 

The Confederate Army that his father had given up so much for had repaid his services by coming to their home and commandeering the beautiful carriage horses his father had so proudly owned. They were turned into war horses for Confederate officers. 

One day, while Rembrandt was in the barn feeding what little stock they had left an old milk cow and a few chickens, he heard riders coming into the yard. As he came from the barn, he saw three Union soldiers riding into the yard. 

Walking out to them, Rem asked, Can I help you?

No, kid, one of the soldiers replied. We’ll look around and find what we want for ourselves.

Go find it somewhere else, Rem said defiantly, and leave my father’s property at once.

One of the soldiers tried to kick him from atop his horse, but Rem dodged out of the way.

He took off running towards the house, but twenty yards shy of the porch steps, he felt a crashing blow to his head and everything went dark. Some hours later he came to and, going in the house, he found a lamp and lit it. He found his mother and sister both downstairs. They had been molested and murdered. He found his father upstairs in his bed and he had been shot in the head more than once. 

Most children of ten upon finding such a thing would have merely sat down and cried until someone found them. Not Rembrandt. In the early morning afterward, a neighbor found him trying to dig three graves for his family. The man had helped him finish with the burying of his family then loaded him and what few things he could put in a bag in his wagon and took him to another neighbor’s farm. 

They were taking in children like himself whose parents had been killed, therefore making them war orphans. There were fourteen boys and girls in the three bedroom house he was taken to. There were no beds, simply a blanket. When it was time for sleep, you found a spot on the floor. 

Rem had been loaned out many times over the next four years. He helped out on farms and warehouses or pretty much anything where an extra set of hands was needed. All the boy children there were expected to do it to help pay their way. The girls did the cooking and the house work. 

Even though he was only ten, Rem thought that a lot of extra money was coming to the couple. The meals were regular, although most of it came from a garden that the children worked out behind the house. For at least two years there was nothing but vegetables from the garden and bread, no meat ever. 

At fourteen, Rem had been badly beaten by a farmer. He had been sent to work for a man that was a drunkard and was very lazy. The man wasn’t looking for help at all, but rather someone to do his work for him. When Rem could not do a chore, he’d been given by himself, in a drunken rage, the man had beat him. Nothing was done to the man except to be told that he would get no more help. That same night back at the home he packed what little he owned and snuck out the window.

Rem moved around a lot and made his way in life for the next three years by taking whatever work he could find. At times he worked all day for no more than a meal. Mostly it just kept him eating, but he did manage to save five dollars. He bought his first pistol with some of the money he’d earned and practiced with it daily. 

He was a natural, as the saying goes, and with the practice he soon became very accurate and very fast. In the back of his mind he knew that one day he would find the men who had killed his family and take his revenge.

CHAPTER 4