For Ulysses S. Grant all music was an annoyance. He had a tin ear, and music, especially loud military marches, could often trigger a headache.

Sitting on the raised dais, he looked out across the field, and there was the nightmare memory of this same field, little more than two months back, the same field across which Lee had launched his final charge on Frederick.

The town behind him was quickly rebuilding, but the land around Frederick still bore mute evidence of the shock of war. Destroyed fields, gutted farmhouses and barns, and, directly before him, earth still freshly mounded over, row upon row upon row, nearly six thousand graves so far.

The crowd that had gathered for the ceremony stood in a vast semicircle around the new cemetery, but a scattering of men and women stood within, an informal understanding that those who had a comrade or loved one resting on this sacred ground could stand by the remains of their fallen.

Near the front he saw Emily McPherson, dressed in black. He caught her eye for a moment and was filled yet again with the memory of his old comrade. Near her was a soldier in Confederate uniform, a young colonel, standing next to the grave of Custer.

A fair number of former Confederates were actually present, though he did not know their names. Sergeant Hazner and one-armed Sergeant Robinson were present, standing by the mass graves for the unidentified Confederate dead, who, at the insistence of President Lincoln, were to be interned in the same cemetery, though in a different section, a compromise Lincoln made when some hard-liners protested that decision.

Another decision that Lincoln had made-and stoutly shut down any protest over-was that black soldiers' graves were to be mingled with white. Grant recognized Major Bartlett, a Medal of Honor around his neck, and by his side an elderly black gentleman whom he recognized as well, Mr. James Bartlett, now special adviser to the president for the Freedmen's Bureau. They stood together by a grave, hands resting on the temporary wooden cross. He caught their gaze for a second, and Major Bartlett came to attention and saluted. Grant nodded in return, knowing that they were standing by the grave of their son and grandson.

The music continued, and Grant waited patiently for it to finish.

"Well, General, it is over, and you did it," Elihu Washburne said, leaning over to whisper to him. "Looking back, did you always think it was going to end this way?"

Grant shook his head, glad for the momentary diversion of conversation.

"No, sir, I did not think victory was inevitable."

Elihu looked at him with surprise.

"From the moment you were assigned command and first met President Lincoln, you said we would win."

Grant smiled.

"All generals must say that if they are indeed to win. What kind of confidence could I give to my men, to you or the president if I said, 'Maybe'? Men must go into battle with confidence, and that was my job, sir, to instill that confidence, and frankly to believe in it as well. To do otherwise would mean defeat.

"But now that it is over, I can confess, there were times that I did doubt we could do it."

"How so?"

"The South was trying to leave, and we were trying to force them to stay. Conquering a region is vastly harder than defending it. We had no real army when this war began. Many of our best officers left to defend their home states.

"Only one man stood between ending the Union and preserving the Union, and that man is sitting over there."

Grant pointed toward Lincoln, who was sitting next to the speaker's podium.

"It ultimately rested with him. Without his will and his ability to survive defeat after defeat and discouragement after discouragement the South would now be a separate country and the Confederacy would be our rival on the North American continent. General Lee had the South at the edge of victory after Second Bull Run, after Fredericksburg, after Chancellorsville, and after the great victories of this summer. A weaker man than President Lincoln would have broken, and an armistice would have been signed. Once a truce was signed, there would never have been the will to start fighting again. No, sir, this victory was a long way from inevitable, and every young American ought to learn just how important one man can be. How one man can shape history and, in that moment, save a nation.

"And General Lee as well. He stood up for the honor of the South at the end. His actions in Richmond spared us a year or more of terrible conflict, and he is now helping to heal the wounds. I thank God for him as well."

The band finished playing, and ever so slowly Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth president of the United States, came to his feet and stepped up to the lectern. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out several sheets of paper, laid them out, and then raised his head and began to speak, his high tenor voice carrying far across the cemetery and the fields beyond…

"Four score and seven years ago…"