Charles Tucker stepped up and handed Leland’s two gold spikes to Thomas Durant, who accepted them with a hungover nod. Durant then knelt down and slipped them into the pre-drilled holes in the laurel tie. The reflected inscription on the tie’s silver plaque shone on his cheek: ‘The last tie laid on the completion of the Pacific Railroad, May 1869.’

Leland spoke for more than five minutes, while the crowd restlessly stirred and pushed. Finally, he raised one hand and called out in his most melodramatic voice, ‘Now, gentlemen, with your assistance we shall proceed to lay the last tie, the last rail, and drive the last spike.’

Grenville Dodge, who seemed to have cheered up, thanked Leland for his oratory and said, ‘Gentlemen, this is the way to India.’

The silver-headed sledgehammer was brought up. Leland smiled to everyone around and gave what Collis always called his ‘Presidential wave’. A telegraph wire was attached to one of the golden spikes, and Leland took the hammer and playfully swung it around. Jane McCormick was pink and glistening with glory.

‘Well, I’m ready,’ announced Leland, and swung his sledgehammer at the last spike. He missed it altogether, hitting the roadbed. There was a huge roar of laughter from the track layers at the back of the crowd, who had already drunk one whisky tent out of supplies and were ready to move on. Leland, scarlet, stood back.

Now Thomas Durant, pulling on a pair of workman’s gloves to protect his hands, took a turn with the sledge. He swung hard, with a grunt of effort, and also missed. The track layers were almost hysterical with glee.

Collis leaned over the telegraph table. ‘What’s your name, friend?’ he asked the operator.

The operator glanced at him. ‘Shilling, sir. Walter Shilling.’

‘Well, Mr Shilling,’ said Collis, ‘I think it’s going to be up to us to complete this great transcontinental railroad, don’t you?’ And he reached across the table and tapped the telegraph key himself, just once.

Shilling stared at Collis in surprise. Then, quickly, he chattered out the message, ‘Done.’ Collis grinned at him, reached into his vest pocket, and gave him a gold five-dollar piece.

A great cheer went up from the crowd, much to Leland’s confusion. Hats were tossed in the air, and the two locomotives blasted their whistles until Collis felt as if he were going to go permanently deaf. The band struck up with ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ again, and somebody fired a pistol into the afternoon sky.

Slowly, the locomotives were brought closer and closer, until their pilots actually touched. Engineers and track layers and whooping bystanders climbed up on to the piston rods and the shining pipework, and bottles of champagne were jiggled up and down and sprayed over the crowd.