For both of them a government charter for the Sierra Pacific was their most pressing consideration. But once they were sure of that, both of them were quite aware that Theodore would do everything he could to buy Collis and his partners out. Theodore had seen the railroad as a vision of pure technology. As far as he was concerned, Collis’s and Leland’s motives were muddied with greed, with self-interest, and with a ruthless disregard for human sensitivity.

By June, with the Army of the Potomac still trying to force its way deeper into Virginia, the terms of the railroad charters were at last agreed. All of the Congressmen involved in the drawing up and ratification of the act were now well provided for, with promises of railroad stocks and bonds, and Thaddeus Stevens, the Representative from Pennsylvania, had insisted that all the iron used in the construction of the railroad should be made in America — which, since he was one of the country’s largest iron manufacturers, suited him fine.

The Pacific Railroad Act granted to the Sierra Pacific Railroad ten miles of land in alternative sections on either side of its right of way for each mile of track laid down. In addition — and Collis had fought hard for this — the company would be given loans of $16,000 a mile on the plains, $32,000 through the Great Basin, and $48,000 through the Sierra.

On 1 July 1862, a humid and unpleasant day, with thunderclouds hanging over the western horizon, the Army of the Potomac began to retreat from Virginia after the battle of Malvern Hill. That afternoon, in his rooms, Collis heard that President Lincoln had signed the Pacific Railroad Act.

Once the messenger had left, Collis called for Kwang Lee to bring him a drink. Kwang Lee came in with a whisky on a small tray. He was dressed in a smart grey tailcoat, and a clean white shirt.

‘You’re all smartened up,’ said Collis, taking his drink.

‘Yes, sir. I heard about the railroad. Good news, huh? Allow me to offer my congratulations.’

‘Thank you, Lee,’ said Collis. He took a mouthful of whisky. Then he stayed where he was, sitting in his chair, for almost an hour. A thundershower came and went. He heard army gun carriages in the street outside. It was only at five o’clock that the sky began to brighten, and the raindrops clinging on to the window began to sparkle the way they had on the window of the Monument Hotel, longer ago than Collis could recall.

Two days later, in Sacramento, Hannah left the house shortly after sunset and walked down to the front gate, where their black houseboy, Juno, was waiting patiently with the carriage. The evening had that soft, dusty quality that is particularly Western, and the horses fidgeted in their harness.

Hannah mounted the carriage and took the reins. ‘I won’t be long, Juno,’ she told him. ‘No more than an hour or two. I’m visiting Mrs Weiss for supper.’