Andrew Jackson was a Man of Destiny - A Man of Constant Sorrow

by Speer-Williams -Jsw4@mac.com - Veterans Today

Chapter One

The old man sat alone in the darkened room of his Tennessee home, his eyes moist and red. How could he possibly go forward in life, even though he was America’s newly elected president-elect?

What are all the honors of the world to me, now that she’s gone?

The slander, lies, and abuse heaped upon him and his wife, Rachel, during his presidential campaign by the ever propagandizing Rothschild press had killed the being he loved above all others.

The press had publicly called her a bigamist, with implications of worse accusations. In the private quarters of the Rothschild minions, she probably was called a goy whore.

The old man wanted to fight them, but how could he fight the loss of the most important being in his life? No longer would he and his Rachel smoke their tobacco pipes in front of a cheery fire on cold Tennessee evenings.

Yes, the great man had often overcome staggering odds, but to lose her was too much. Did he really want to live in the White House without her – with no Rachel at his side? Could he do it even if he wanted to? Night after night, he asked himself the same old question.

Could I do it even if I wanted to?

Slowly out of despondency grew anger, until one freezing night he bolted out of the chair in his bedroom where he denied himself any heat from his large fireplace and shouted to no one but himself …

Damn right I can do it. They’ll pay. By thunder, they’ll pay!

This angry old man, body broken by age, war, duels, carrying a shattered heart, paused and decided he would become the first US president ever to defeat the tribe of Rothschilds. And he did. The only American head-of-state down through our ever disappointing decades to ever do so.

The Rothschilds had destroyed Rachel. They had destroyed France, but he would not let them destroy the United States of America.

The Planned Assassination!

The Rothschilds lost the presidency, but they could win it back if their most powerful American nemesis was to suddenly depart this life.

It was a cold, rainy day of January in 1835. And while only a conspiring few knew it, the fate of a nation and its greatest man was about to be decided.

The ailing president was a sick man as he slowly made his way, with a stout walking cane, down the Capitol steps. He had attended a funeral and those around him seemed to want to talk with him. But the president’s mind was elsewhere: could he live just long enough to make them pay?

Standing a bit over six feet, the man only weighed 145 pounds. He still carried bullets in his body from wars and duels. He was being poisoned to death by the lead in those bullets.

Then suddenly, not ten feet in front of him, appeared an immediate threat to his life and to the life of his nation. The wide-eyed Richard Lawrence was now aiming a dueling pistol at him – the president.

Had the supernatural fates that had so long guided his truly remarkable life now abandoned him?.....