Transcontinental Railroad | Work of Giants | 1
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Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's October 1860 in California's Sierra Nevada mountains. You step off your horse, your muscles aching from a long and difficult ascent. You're a storekeeper from the isolated mining town of Dutch Flat, and you've just escorted railroad engineer Theodore Judah up to the top of Donner Summit.

The two of you tie your reins around the trunk of a gnarled sugar pine, and Judah sighs and stretches his back. "'Twenty-three trips up these mountains and I still haven't found a workable pass.'

Judah is intent on building a transcontinental railroad, but you know he's stuck on finding a way across these mountains. You're hoping he'll see the potential in your newest hand-picked route. And if he does, you know your little mining town will prosper. You step up onto a boulder and beckon him to follow. Come on up here. I want to show you something.

Judah steps up beside you, and together you stare out at the wide expanse to the east. Far below where you stand, the blue waters of Donner Lake shimmer in the afternoon sun. Do you see it? That's beautiful. Yes, but do you see the possibility here?

Judah is silent, his eyes fixed on the view, and your anticipation grows. Everywhere else in the Sierras, there are two parallel ridges to cross, but here there's just one summit. Beyond the lake lies the Truckee River Canyon. It's a natural corridor through the mountains ahead.

You can see the gears turning in his mind. You rock back and forth, waiting for his verdict. Well, what do you think? I'm plotting a map in my head. You think we could really do it? Build a railroad here that would go all the way out to Nevada? Cross the Rockies and the Great Plains? Judah turns to face you. Some of these grades are very steep. Probably take more than a dozen tunnels through solid granite, too. And then there's snow drifts come winter.

You nod, your heart sinking. But then a grin spreads over Judah's face. But I think it could be done. You might have just helped me solve the biggest puzzle of my career. Judah claps you on the shoulder and turns back to the view. You follow his gaze, but you're already envisioning the future. The trains rolling through Dutch Flat, the influx of people and goods, and most of all, the money to be made.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. American History Tellers

On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now.

In October 1860, a small-town storekeeper led a young railroad engineer named Theodore Judah up the Donner Summit in California's Sierra Nevada Range. As Judah stared out at the landscape before him, he knew he had found the answer to the problem of laying a railroad across one of the most treacherous landscapes in America. It was the start of a decade-long endeavor to build the world's first transcontinental railroad.

But laying nearly 2,000 miles of iron track across America's vast expanse was a daunting task, especially as the Civil War raged. But two companies spearheaded the construction to connect the nation from coast to coast. The Central Pacific started in Sacramento, California and built eastward, and the Union Pacific started in Omaha, Nebraska and built westward. Both companies faced colossal challenges as they embarked on a desperate race to the finish.

And when it was complete, the Transcontinental Railroad became one of America's greatest feats of engineering, made possible by visionary engineers, crooked politicians, and ruthless entrepreneurs. But most of all, it took the back-breaking labor of armies of immigrant workers who swung sledgehammers, shoveled dirt, and blasted rock in the freezing cold and blazing heat.

They conquered granite mountains and desert wastelands, working tirelessly to forge an unbreakable bond between the East and West, often risking their lives in the process. In the end, the iron rails they laid became a monument to American ambition, innovation, and grit, while also revealing the depths of America's capacity for corruption and greed.

And if you want to learn more about other pivotal chapters from American history, you can read about them in a new book inspired by American history tellers. The Hidden History of the White House takes readers inside the iconic seat of American presidential power and reveals 15 behind-the-scenes moments that changed the course of history. It's available now from William Morrow, wherever you get your books. Follow the link in the show notes to learn more.

This is Episode 1 in our four-part series on the Transcontinental Railroad, Work of Giants.

On August 28, 1830, a tiny locomotive called the Tom Thumb completed its inaugural journey down a rickety 13-mile track from Baltimore to Ellicott Mills, Maryland. Never before had a train traveled between two American cities. Passengers thrilled as they lurched down the tracks at the speed of 18 miles an hour. But on the return journey, a belt slipped and the engine sputtered to a halt.

It didn't matter much. By the end of the year, new routes opened in New York and South Carolina. The age of American railroading had begun. And over the next decade, railroad fever swept America. By 1840, there were more than 3,000 miles of track in the United States, most of it along the eastern seaboard. And as time passed, trains became faster, safer, and easier to build.

But from the start, writers, politicians, and railroad promoters envisioned a railroad that would stretch all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Many focused on the railroad's economic potential. One Missouri senator argued that a railroad to the Pacific would fulfill Christopher Columbus's mission of finding a route to the riches of Asia. Another railroad promoter insisted, the whole commerce of the vast world will be tumbled into our lap.

This rhetoric gained momentum as the nation extended its western borders. In 1846, the United States signed a treaty with Britain, settling the boundary of the Pacific Northwest, formally acquiring the land that would become Oregon and Washington State. Then, following the end of the Mexican-American War in 1848, the U.S. seized a vast expanse in the Southwest stretching from Texas to California.

And it was only just days before California became a U.S. territory that a carpenter discovered gold in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains. News of this discovery drew a massive wave of fortune hunters to the West Coast, but they faced slow, treacherous routes to get there.

Some made their way over land, a 2,000-mile trek by wagon from Missouri, across the Great Plains, over the Rocky Mountains, and through the Sierra Nevada Range. The journey took up to six months, and travelers risked death from starvation, accidents, and disease. Other migrants traveled by sea, sailing 18,000 nautical miles around the southern tip of South America. This, too, was a dangerous and expensive voyage that also took roughly six months.

Some migrants cut that time by sailing to Panama, then crossing a narrow strip of land called the Isthmus by canoe and mule. After reaching Panama's Pacific coast, gold seekers then boarded another ship to California. This Panama shortcut was the fastest and most popular route, but travelers still faced severe health risks, including yellow fever and malaria.

But despite the heavy cost and substantial risks of traveling to California, gold seekers continued to brave the journey. By 1853, there were roughly a quarter million non-native residents in the state, but there were no trains to serve this growing population.

A group of prominent Californians set out to change that, proposing the construction of a railroad to run from Sacramento northeast to the Sierra foothills, improving access to nearby gold mines. And at the end of 1853, the president of the brand-new Sacramento Valley Railroad Company sailed to New York to find an experienced engineer. He spoke with the governor of New York and his brother, who recommended a young and enthusiastic engineer named Theodore Judah.

Judah came of age with the railroad. Born in Connecticut in 1826, he was four years old when America's first steam engine locomotive went into service. And he demonstrated a passion and talent for engineering from an early age. When he was just 11, he began taking advanced science classes at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, New York. By the time he was 18, he began working as a surveyor for a Connecticut railroad.

Three years later, he married his wife Anna Pierce, an artist and writer, and together the couple moved 20 times in the next six years as Judah's burgeoning railroad career took him up and down the East Coast.

In March 1854, they were living in Buffalo, New York, when Judah received an urgent telegram summoning him to New York City for a meeting. Three days later, Anna stared speechless at a telegram from her husband. He wrote, "'Be home tonight. We sail for California, April 2nd.' That night he burst through the door and declared, "'Anna, I'm going to California to be the pioneer railroad engineer of the Pacific Coast.'"

Judo was just 28 years old, but he was resourceful, hardworking, and ambitious, and he could not wait to throw himself into a new challenge. He and Anna packed their bags at once and set off for Sacramento.

Within two years, Judah had built roughly 20 miles of track out of Sacramento, and the first train west of the Missouri River began service. But Judah had bigger dreams than a small Sacramento railroad. He spent much of his free time exploring the Sierra Nevada mountains on foot and muleback, wondering if it would be possible to build a railroad track across them to connect California to Nevada.

By 1856, he'd become obsessed with the idea of building the nation's first transcontinental railroad. His wife Anna would later write, Time, money, brains, strength, body, and soul were absorbed. It was the burden of his thoughts day and night. He spoke of the railroad so much that some called him Crazy Judah.

And for many, the idea of a railroad stretching across 2,000 miles was far-fetched. There were no mechanized excavators or power tools in the 1850s,

the railroad would have to be entirely built by hand. Iron, locomotives, and other materials would have to be shipped across vast distances. Tracks would have to be built across deserts and three mountain ranges. And across the Great Plains, 75,000 Indians belonging to 30 different tribes maintained control over their traditional lands. The only sizable white settlement was in Salt Lake City, Utah.

So the sheer scale of the undertaking was unprecedented. Judah was convinced that only the federal government had the resources to finance such an enormous endeavor. As one army officer wrote, building the railroad would be the work of giants, and Uncle Sam is the only giant I know who can grapple the subject. So in late 1856, Judah traveled to Washington, D.C. to start campaigning.

But the Transcontinental Railroad was already a subject of government debate. In the mid-1850s, Secretary of War Jefferson Davis sent out four teams of surveyors to find a possible route. Their reports came out in 12 large volumes. They were full of long descriptions of the plants, animals, and weather to be found in the West, but they contained little practical information to help engineers and potential investors.

Jeter resolved to address this by writing his own 13,000-word pamphlet called A Practical Plan for Building the Pacific Railroad, which he distributed to every member of Congress in January 1857. In this pamphlet, he identified two main obstacles to building the railroad—

First, Judah argued the need for a proper survey to estimate costs for the project. Second, he insisted that in order to obtain this information, Congress had to settle on a route. But lawmakers were locked in a battle over a burning issue that threatened not just to doom the future of the railroad, but tear the country apart.

Imagine it's March 1857 in Washington, D.C. You're a newly elected Republican senator from Wisconsin. You step out of your office preoccupied with the agenda for this afternoon's Indian Affairs Committee. You almost don't notice Jefferson Davis sitting there, who is back in the Senate representing Mississippi. There's a glint of challenge in his eyes, as if he's already steeling himself for a fight. Senator, I've been meaning to speak with you. Ah, Senator Davis.

I never offered you congratulations on your re-election. What can I do for you? It's time the Senate started the debate on the Pacific Railroad. The nation needs us to take up the mantle. I'm hoping you'll join me. You feel a surge of excitement, surprised to find yourself seeing eye to eye with a Democrat and a Southerner, no less. Well, I agree. We cannot grow this country without a rail connection to our western borders.

"'And you know, I have just the man to help us. I've been meeting with a fine engineer who tells me the best way forward is to build the railroad between the 47th and 49th parallels, from St. Paul, Minnesota, to Washington's Puget Sound.' At this, though, Davis's lip curls. "'Oh, that is a fanciful notion, Senator. The only practical route would be to follow the 32nd parallel, from New Orleans to Los Angeles. That's the shortest path and the least expensive. There would be no snow or mountains to overcome.'

Now it's your turn to feel a morsel of disgust. Well, I cannot support a root that cuts through the heart of the South, one that enriches slave owners like yourself. Davis's face hardens. Oh, you're letting your biases stand in the way of progress. At least be honest with yourself. Your sole reason for advocating a Minnesota terminus is that you know it will boost the economy of your home state of Wisconsin. Do not pretend this is about anything but your own interests.

You step closer, struggling to keep your composure. "'Think what you want, Senator. But I promise you, no Northerner is going to support a route that helps perpetuate the system of slavery. I know that for a fact.' You turn on your heel and walk away. "'The mere thought of slave owners profiting from such a large government expenditure makes your blood boil. You know this conversation is far from over, but you fear that as long as slavery continues, nothing will break this impasse.'

In the 1850s, legislators agreed on the need for a transcontinental railroad, but they were fiercely divided over whether the route should go through the northern or southern states. Neither side wanted to give the other economic advantage, and division over slavery made it impossible to break the deadlock.

So without federal money, Judah could not move forward. But he returned to California in the spring of 1859, having gained experience in politics and the art of persuasion. While taking odd surveying jobs, he never lost focus on his main goal. He delivered speeches and wrote editorials, and he persuaded the California state legislature to stage a railroad convention.

In September 1859, politicians and businessmen from California, Oregon, Nevada, and Arizona gathered in San Francisco for the Pacific Railroad Convention. The delegates adopted a resolution supporting Sacramento as a western terminus for a transcontinental railroad, and they appointed Judah as their official agent to Congress.

So nine days later, Judah and Anna sailed for Panama, beginning the long journey back to Washington, D.C. This time, Judah was determined to make real progress. But the debate over slavery was not his only challenge. Deep down, he knew that his biggest obstacle was nature itself. There was no greater barrier to building the railroad than the deadly snow-capped granite peaks of the Sierra Nevada. ♪

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Hire high-quality, certified pros at Angie.com. When Theodore Judah arrived in the nation's capital in the fall of 1859, talk of slavery and secession drowned out all other debates. But Judah was undaunted.

Even before leaving Sacramento, he had managed to persuade California Congressman John C. Birch to back his plans. Together, the pair drafted a railroad bill, and Birch agreed to sponsor it in the House. After Judah arrived in Washington, Birch arranged for him to have his own office in the Capitol to promote the railroad, too.

And at the suggestion of his wife, Anna, Judah turned the office into what he called the Pacific Railroad Museum. He displayed maps, diagrams, mineral samples, and Anna's paintings of the Sierras. He made the rounds in Washington, meeting with scores of politicians, reporters, and officials, including President James Buchanan. Congressman Birch declared,

Judah's knowledge of his subject was so thorough, his manner so gentle and insinuating, his conversation on the subject so entertaining, that few resisted his appeals.

By early 1860, there were four different Pacific Railroad bills in the House of Representatives, all recommending different routes. Judah decided to back a bill with a northern route, introduced in February by Iowa Congressman Samuel Curtis. Curtis's bill mandated that two companies would build the railroad, one building east from Sacramento and the other building west from Iowa. But southern congressmen still refused to support a northern route, and debate was tabled until December.

There were also practical challenges. Judah believed that he could get a railroad across the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains. But the most formidable obstacle was the Sierra Nevada Range, known for its steep and rugged slopes, hard granite peaks, and heavy snowfall. So Judah made up his mind that he would not return to Washington until he had collected hard facts and figures proving that a railroad could get across the Sierras.

In the summer of 1860, he and Anna set sail for their return to Sacramento. That October, Judah received a letter from a storekeeper named Daniel Strong, known as Doc among his customers in the small town of Dutch Flat, 55 miles east of Sacramento. Doc Strong invited Judah to come take a look at a path through the Sierras called Donner Pass, named after the ill-fated Donner Party.

In the winter of 1846, heavy snow on this route stranded 90 settlers on the east side of the mountains. Half of the group succumbed to starvation and exposure, with some resorting to cannibalism to survive. Their story was a tragic reminder of the dangerous conditions awaiting those who dared cross the Sierras in winter, but Strong was certain that Donner Pass was the route Judah had been searching for.

After receiving Strong's letter, Judah immediately set out for Dutch Flat. And from there, Strong led Judah up the ridge of the Donner Pass on horseback. Looking east from the summit, Judah was thrilled.

Most of the Sierra Range consisted of two parallel ridges with a deep valley in between. At Donner Pass, though, there was just one crest. A railroad there would only have to climb up and down one mountain, not two. And there was a natural corridor leading west past the Donner Lake. Judah had found his route.

As soon as he made his way back down the mountain, he drew up articles of incorporation for the Central Pacific Railroad Company. Then he quickly set out in search of investors. For his dream to move forward, he would need to convince the moneyed men of San Francisco to support his venture.

Imagine it's November 1860, and you're sitting in the corner office of your bank in San Francisco, California. You lean back in your leather chair, puffing on a cigar as you watch Theodore Judah unfurl a large map across your polished redwood desk. He takes a deep breath, and his eyes light up with excitement. I have an unparalleled opportunity for you, sir. A chance to help construct a Pacific Railroad.

Once the plan has been approved by Congress, they'll need to designate a company to build the railroad, and that's where you come in. Despite his enthusiasm, you stare skeptically. I've already drawn up articles of incorporation. I only need another $4,500 to meet the state's required 10% capitalization. A mere pittance to you, I'm sure.

You take a long drag on your cigar and then lean forward to scan the map in front of you. Judah has drawn a line through the Sierra Nevada mountains. You want to build a railroad through the Sierras? Yes, sir. And how much is that going to cost? Judah straightens up. $70,000 a mile. But there's real money to be made. Congress is going to appropriate money for every mile completed. And think of the potential revenue once it's up and running. You stand to make a handsome profit.

Have you ever completed a genuine survey of the terrain, Mr. Judah? No, not yet. And that's why I need investors like you. And how do you plan to keep the railroad free of snow once you're up in the mountains? Judah looks down. Well, it will be a challenge to be sure. But I promise you, it's a challenge I will solve.

Clearly, none of this can be done without federal government. Yes. And as I mentioned, there's a bill currently before Congress that will provide the necessary support. You seem awfully certain that Congress is going to pass this bill. But it seems to me that they're busy with the South threatening to secede. And even if Congress does approve the railroad, it'll take decades to build.

Judah shakes his head vehemently. Seven years. I swear to you, that's all it will take. Seven years, and you'll be able to travel to New York City in only a week. I'm sorry, Mr. Judah, but you're going to have to find some other fool to open his pockets for this pipe dream. Besides, I have substantial investments in wagon and shipping companies. Why would I support a railroad that would threaten those investments? Judah sighs, his shoulders slopping. Well, sir, I understand, and thank you for your time.

He rolls up his map, lines of frustration etched on his face. You watch him leave your office, stunned by the young man's audacity. It's clear to you that a transcontinental railroad, one that crosses the Sierras no less, is nothing but a fantasy.

After potential investors in San Francisco turned Judah down, Doc Strong suggested that Judah try his luck in the state capitol. So in November, Judah began holding meetings at a Sacramento hotel. But he also adjusted his pitch, tailoring it to the audience of Sacramento businessmen by focusing on smaller, more immediate gains than a transcontinental railroad.

That fall, Nevada was in the middle of a silver rush. Judah told the merchants he could help them corner that market by building a railroad from Sacramento to Nevada. But first, they needed to build a wagon road. And Judah told them that even if the railroad failed, they would still have the wagon road and the tolls collected on it.

With this argument, Judah managed to capture the interest of a shrewd hardware wholesaler named Collis P. Huntington. As a teenager in Connecticut, Huntington had crawled his way out of poverty by working as a traveling peddler. He set out for California during the gold rush, calculating that he would make more money as a merchant than as a miner. A decade later, he was a fixture in Sacramento's business district, usually seen wearing a floppy Panama hat.

And after meeting with Judah, Huntington brought in his business partner Mark Hopkins, dry goods merchant Charles Crocker, and grocer and politician Leland Stanford. This group agreed to buy enough stock to incorporate Judah's company, and on June 27, 1861, the Central Pacific Railroad was born.

Judah was chief engineer, but Huntington, Hopkins, Crocker, and Stanford emerged as the company's most powerful leaders, known as the Big Four. Their talents complemented one another. Stanford was a skilled orator and politician, and he would serve as the president and public face of the company. Huntington was vice president. A natural huckster, he would focus on raising capital for the new venture. The quiet and cautious Hopkins would exercise influence behind the scenes as treasurer and

and the brawny 250-pound Crocker was made construction boss. Crocker later declared, None of us knew anything about railroad building, but at the same time were enterprising men and anxious to have a road built and have it come to Sacramento.

The Big Four provided Judah with the money he needed to complete a survey of the Sierras. In September 1861, he presented them with a written report detailing months of work. His partners were impressed. They ordered him to travel to Washington immediately to lobby for the passage of railroad legislation. And this time, he had the detailed maps and cost estimates to prove it could be done.

But Judah returned to a very different Washington, D.C. than the one he had left behind. By the time he was back, America was six months into the Civil War. In the aftermath of secession and the formation of the Confederacy, the Southern congressmen and senators who might have blocked a northern route for the railroad could no longer stand in his way.

So in his office in the Capitol, Judah unfurled a 60-foot-long map and explained his plans to congressmen and senators who wandered through. His proposal was audacious. He called for building bridges across rivers and ravines, carving 20-foot shelves out of mountain faces, and driving 18 tunnels through solid granite. But he was also armed with a comprehensive engineering plan and an existing corporation ready to start construction.

Unbeknownst to Judah, back in California, the Big Four founded the Dutch Flat and Donner Lake Wagon Road Company that fall. Following through on Judah's own suggestion, they made plans to build a wagon road to carry supplies to the railroads as construction got underway. And whether Judah and the Central Pacific Railroad were successful, the Big Four were determined to make a profit collecting tolls from miners and merchants traveling to Nevada on the wagon road.

Meanwhile, Judeau was working hard to secure federal legislation for the railroad. With his encouragement, in January 1862, Congressman Aaron Sargent of California introduced a new bill for the appropriation of federal land and bonds to finance the construction of the transcontinental railroad. Months of debate followed, focused on the money and land that would go to the corporations building the road. Some congressmen wondered whether the government could afford to pay for such a major project in the middle of the war.

But the railroad had a powerful champion in President Abraham Lincoln. During his law career in Illinois, Lincoln represented various railroad companies in court. Now charged with saving the Union from destruction, he believed a transcontinental railroad would help unify the country by binding together the East and West even as the North and South fell apart.

With Lincoln's support, in late June 1862, the House and Senate passed Congressman Sargent's bill. Lincoln signed the Pacific Railway Act into law a few days later. This law called for the creation of a new corporation, the Union Pacific, that would build westward from the Missouri River. The Central Pacific would build eastward from Sacramento. It did not designate a meeting point.

But the federal government would not dole out cash to railroad companies. Instead, it would distribute federal land and government bonds that the companies could sell to raise money on their own. The companies would receive 6,400 acres of public land for every mile of track laid, and they would collect $16,000 of bonds per mile of track on flat land, $32,000 for foothills, and $48,000 per mile of mountainous terrain.

With this new law, the companies had the assurance of government funding. But there was a catch. They would receive the bonds only after they had built 40 miles of government-approved track. Nevertheless, Judah was ecstatic. He wired the good news to his partners in Sacramento, declaring, We have drawn the elephant. Now let us see if we can harness him up. But harnessing the elephant would prove more complicated than Judah ever imagined.

He and the Big Four were leaping into an abyss, attempting something that had never been done before. And soon, this undertaking would pit Judah's vision and idealism against his partner's single-minded determination for profit.

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After the passage of the Pacific Railroad Act in July 1862, Theodore Judah leapt into action.

He went straight to New York to purchase the materials needed to begin construction. There were no manufacturers in California that could provide iron rails, spikes, or locomotives. And with the Civil War raging, the price of iron had skyrocketed. Rails that cost $55 a ton in 1860 cost more than twice that in 1862.

Plus, the Central Pacific would need to ship all materials 18,000 miles around the tip of South America, and during the war, shipping costs had also risen.

According to the terms laid out in the new law, the Central Pacific and the Union Pacific companies needed to lay 40 miles of track before they could collect any bonds or land from the government. In the meantime, the railroads would have to raise cash on their own. Central Pacific Vice President Collis Huntington joined Judah in New York where he managed to secure large loans from wealthy businessmen, enough to buy $700,000 worth of materials.

By August, Judah was back in Sacramento, eager to get to work. But he soon found himself at odds with his partners. The Big Four knew it would be years before they profited from the operation of the railroad. So they devised a scheme to ensure that they made money before then by awarding the construction contract to one of their own, Charles Crocker.

To avoid charges of conflict of interest, Charles Crocker agreed to step down from the board of the Central Pacific to run the construction company. And at the end of December 1862, Charles Crocker and Company was formed. The Central Pacific granted it a $400,000 contract to build the road's first 18 miles. Judah protested, rightfully suspecting that Huntington, Stanford, and Hopkins were silent partners in this new company and fearing that they were taking the railroad away from him.

But nonetheless, on January 8, 1863, the Central Pacific staged a groundbreaking ceremony in Sacramento. Thousands gathered to watch Leland Stanford throw the first shovel full of dirt. By then, Stanford had taken office as governor of California, a position he would use to benefit the railroad. And speaking to the crowds, he vowed, "...there will be no delay, no backing out, no uncertainty."

At last, the Central Pacific seemed to be well on its way. Already, it was leagues ahead of the Union Pacific, the new company charged with building tracks westward from the Missouri River. This company was still scrambling for the initial investors it needed to incorporate, and the government had still not selected the city or town that would serve as the railroad's eastern terminus.

So while the Union Pacific was at a standstill, the Central Pacific was hiring laborers and developing construction plants. And the Big Four devised another scheme for making money. Congress had promised $48,000 in bonds for track laid in mountains, $32,000 for foothills, and $16,000 for flat land. So the more track laid over mountains and foothills, the more money the railroad earned.

The Big Four decided to exploit this rule by changing Judah's survey to show the Sierras starting closer to Sacramento than they actually did. Judah's meticulous survey showed the foothills starting 22 miles east of Sacramento. But the Big Four hired a specialist to draft a survey more to their liking, placing the foothills just seven miles from the city. This fraud amounted to an additional $480,000 in government bonds.

But President Lincoln soon approved the new survey. Judah was furious. He complained to his wife, Anna, These men will not do what I want and must do. We shall just as sure have trouble in Congress if the sun rises in the east if they go on this way. But in the meantime, work on the railroad in Sacramento proceeded.

The first task was to grade the railroad, which meant clearing and leveling the land to make it flat enough to lay tracks. But Crocker struggled to retain workers. Men often gave up, lured by the dream of striking it rich in nearby gold and silver mines. Judah worked in front of the graders, laying out the exact route the railroad would travel through Dutch Flat and over the summit.

And in May 1863, he made his way down the mountain to meet with the other directors of the Central Pacific in Sacramento. The Big Four announced that they wanted all directors to equally share the costs of building the railroad. Judah was again furious, knowing that he could not compete with the businessmen's wealth. He complained to his friend, Doc Strong, I had a blowout about two weeks ago and freed my mind, so much so that I looked for instant decapitation.

I called things by their right name and invited war.

The rift only continued to grow. Judah disapproved of Crocker's construction methods. He rightly suspected that the Big Four were sharing in the profits of Crocker's company and believed that they were keeping him in the dark about major decisions. Judah was also frustrated that he'd been cut out of the profits of the Wagon Road Company. He told Strong, "...they do not hesitate to talk boldly, openly before me, but not to me, about it. They talk as though there was nobody in the world but themselves who could build a wagon road."

The conflict came to a head at a stockholders meeting in July. Huntington demanded that the board members pay the remainder of what they owed the company for stock. And if they failed to pay, they would be forced to relinquish their seats. This was a direct challenge to Judah. Huntington knew that he didn't have the money. And when Judah refused to pay, Huntington planned his next move. He vowed to show their engineer who was really in charge.

Imagine it's July 1863 in Sacramento, California, and you're the vice president of the Central Pacific Railroad. You walk into your stifling hot office, the harsh light of the midday sun streaming through the windows. You set your hat on your desk and loosen your collar, just as the door bursts open again. Theodore Judah marches in, eyes blazing. What were you thinking, shutting down construction? You cross your arms and meet his gaze. Nice of you to knock, Ted.

I'd like to know what you were thinking changing the route of the first mile of track. I gave express orders that the road should follow I Street to Fifth Street, but I'm the chief engineer, and I say it makes more sense for the railroad to follow B Street. These tracks need to be closer to the wharf so that cargo can be moved directly from ships to boxcars. It's more efficient, and the rest of the board agrees with me. I don't care what the rest of the board thinks. I'm vetoing the change. You're trying to take my railroad away from me. Your railroad? The

Need I remind you that none of this would be possible without my money? I've staked my fortune on this, not to mention my reputation. Judah throws up his arms. I can't work like this anymore. The cheating, the power plays, constant second-guessing of every decision I make. You just shrug, your exasperation giving way to anger. Then don't take it anymore. Buy us out, or we'll buy you out.

Judah's eyes widen. "'What do you mean? You want to be in control? Here's your chance. The other directors and I will sell you our stock for the price of $100,000 each. You have two weeks to raise the money.' The weight of your ultimatum hangs in the air. You can't help but relish his discomfort. But Judah just lifts his chin, resolve hardening his features. "'Okay, I'll find the money. You'll see. And to hell with all of you. I wish you good luck.'

As Judah storms out of your office, you drop into your chair and stare at the stack of papers on your desk. Contracts, maps, surveys, all representing the giant task before the Central Pacific. Judah is a stubborn man, but also resourceful and determined. And you can't help but feel a twinge of worry that he might actually come up with the funds to take this all away from you. But you refuse to let anyone steer this railroad off course.

After arguing with Huntington, Judah decided to sail east to raise funds to buy out the Big Four. He arranged meetings with potential investors in New York, including railroad tycoon Cornelius Vanderbilt. And on October 3, 1863, he and Anna once again boarded a ship bound for Panama.

For the first time in months, Judo was filled with hope. He predicted that soon the railroad will pass into the hands of men of experience and capital, and that the Big Four would rue the day they ever embarked on the Pacific Railroad.

But while he was crossing Panama, Judah contracted yellow fever. And when his ship docked in Manhattan on October 26th, he was carried off the boat and deposited in a sickbed in a Wall Street hotel. That same day, nearly 3,000 miles away, the first rails of the Central Pacific were spiked to their ties.

Judah never heard the good news. He died a week later at the age of 37. The man who had done more for the railroad than anyone else would not live to see his dream become a reality. But he at least knew that work on the Central Pacific was proceeding. More than a year after the passage of the Pacific Railroad Act, work on the Union Pacific had not even begun. For too many potential investors, it was a reckless gamble that was destined for failure.

But one man was determined to seize control of the railroad for his own ends, a born manipulator who would stop at nothing to amass power and profit. From Wondery, this is Episode 1 of our four-part series on the Transcontinental Railroad from American History Tellers.

On the next episode, President Abraham Lincoln finally chooses an eastern terminus for the Transcontinental Railroad. A ruthless businessman takes the reins of the Union Pacific, and the Central Pacific enlists Chinese immigrant laborers to begin blasting tunnels through the Sierras.

If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. ♪

American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bogg. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozanski. Managing Producers Desi Blaylock and Matt Gant. Senior Managing Producer Ryan Moore. Senior Producer Andy Herman. Executive Producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.

The missiles are coming.

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