“This is the city of St Thomas, in the country of Gulconda,”[87] says he, “and hath its name from the blessed martyr St Thomas the apostle, who was murdered in this place by the pagans. There are here divers memorials of his life and death, and notably his sepulchre, that standeth on that great hill behind the town, where you may discern a fair chapel builded in his honour. And if we have good luck to-day, I will show you likewise a sign of the divine judgment upon the murderers of the blessed saint. For the Indians here, being descended from those that with their feet did stamp St Thomas to death, are all born with the right leg prodigiously swollen, and this deformity continues, and even increases, throughout their lives. Finding ’emselves thus marked with the token of heaven’s displeasure, these persons resolved long since to amend their lives, and becoming converted to the faith, are called by the name of him they slew--viz., the Christians of St Thomas--but do still bear about with ’em the mark of their fathers’ crime.” “I thank you, sir, for this curious tale,” said I. “And what (if I may ask) do you and your fellows in this place?” “Why,” says he, “my lord marquis holds it for his majesty against all the forces of the King of Gulconda by land and the fleet of the insolent Hollanders by sea.” “Pray,” says I, “tell me how you come hither, sir. Three years ago I had looked for a viceroy from Muscovy in these seas as soon as for one from France.” “That will I tell you when I carry you to see the walls,” says he. “But first, if you will give me leave, I will seek some clothes for you, and what is still lacking we will get when we go abroad. Your own clothes have been looked to by my servant, but I fear they will scarce be fit for you to wear to-day.”