Columbus died ignorant of the fact that he had discovered a new world. He believed that the great continent which he gave to civilization was Asia, and that he had only found a new way to that country. He called the natives whom he found "Indians," thinking that they were inhabitants of India. When it was known that a new country had actually been discovered, it was named "America" in honor of Amerigo Vespucci, an Italian geographer and navigator, who visited, it seems, the mainland of this country in 1497. The land discovered by Columbus on the night of October 12, 1492, is believed to have been Watling's island, one of the groups of the West Indies. Eighteen years elapsed between the time when Christopher Columbus conceived his enterprise and that August morning in 1492 when he set sail on his first voyage of discovery. He had gone about from place to place seeking aid, but spurned everywhere. These years were spent in almost hopeless anxiety, in poverty, and in neglect. The people of his day thought him crazy. When he passed by, they pointed to their foreheads and smiled. He braved the dangers of unknown waters, of mutinous crews, of hostile natives, and of starvation. What is worse, he endured the arrows of jealousy, slander, and misrepresentation. He had a contract with the Spanish crown whereby he was to receive certain honors and wealth as a result of his discoveries. He could not get King Ferdinand to fulfill the contract. He was sent home in chains from the great hemisphere he had discovered, and even the honor of its name went to another who had no claim to it. Through the career of every successful man there runs a grim determination to do the thing in hand. Columbus had this determination and with it he triumphed. The stars hid themselves behind storms; the compass refused to act normally; a strange and terrible ocean roared; mutiny howled and jealousy hissed, but on one thing he was determined--he would do his best to accomplish the thing he had set himself to accomplish; and he did it. One of the most inspiring poems in American literature is Joaquin Miller's "Columbus:"-- Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gate of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Brave Adm'r'l, speak, what shall I say?" "Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'" "My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"