Less fortunate than their brethren of Gortyna were the unfortunate Cretans who, during the same war, took refuge in the cave of Melidoni. In 1822, when Hussein Bey marched against the neighbouring village, the inhabitants, to the number of three hundred, repaired to the cave, taking with them their valuables and provisions sufficient for six months. The entrance is so narrow and steep that they were perfectly secured against an attack, and the Turks in their first attempt lost twenty-five men. Finding that they refused submission on any terms, Hussein Bey ordered a quantity of combustibles to be brought to the entrance and set on fire. The smoke, rolling into the cavern in immense volumes, drove the miserable fugitives into the remoter chambers, where they lingered a little while longer, but were all eventually suffocated. The Turks waited some days, but still did not dare to enter, and a Greek captive was finally sent down on the promise of his life being spared. The Turks then descended and plundered the bodies. A week afterwards, three natives of the village stole into the cavern to see what had become of their friends and relatives. It is said that they were so overcome by the terrible spectacle that two of them died within a few days. Years afterwards, when the last vestiges of the insurrection had been suppressed, the Archbishop of Crete blessed the cavern, making it consecrated ground; and the bones of the victims were gathered together and partially covered up, in the outer chamber—a vast elliptical hall, about eighty feet in height, and propped in the centre by an enormous stalactitic pillar. On all sides the stalactites hang like fluted curtains from the roof, here in broad sheeted masses, there dropping into single sharp folds, but all on a scale of Titanic grandeur. In this imposing and silent hall, under the black banners of eternal Night, lay heaped the mouldering skulls and bones of the poor Christians. They could not have had a more appropriate sepulchre.