essive Sultans, filled Mahmoud
with wrath. The Sultan dissembled his resentment, however, in order to
bring all the soldiers he could command to the utter destruction of his
rebellious subjects. He deposed his grand vizier, and sent orders to all
the pashas in his dominions for a general levy of all Mussulmans
between fifteen and fifty, to assemble in Thessaly in May, 1823. He also
made the utmost efforts to repair the disasters of his fleet.

The Greeks, too, made corresponding exertions to maintain their armies.
Though weakened, they were not despondent. Their successes had filled
them with new hopes and energies. Their independence seemed to them to
be established. They even began to despise their foes. But as soon as
success seemed to have crowned their efforts they were subject to a new
danger. There were divisions, strifes, and jealousies between the
chieftains. Unity, so essential in war, was seriously jeoparded. Had
they remained united, and buried their resentments and jealousies in the
cause of patriotism, their independence possibly might have been
acknowledged. But in the absence of a central power the various generals
wished to fight on their own account, like guerilla chiefs. They would
not even submit to the National Assembly. The leaders were so full of
discords and personal ambition that they would not unite on anything.
Mavrokordatos and Ypsilanti were not on speaking terms. One is naturally
astonished at such suicidal courses, but he forgets what a powerful
passion jealousy is in the human soul. It was not absent from our own
war of Independence, in which at one time rival generals would have
supplanted, if possible, even Washington himself; indeed, it is present
everywhere, not in war alone, but among all influential and ambitious
people,--women of society, legislators, artists, physicians, singers,
actors, even clergymen, authors, and professors in colleges. This
unfortunate passion can be kept down only by the overpowering dominancy
of transcendent ability, which everybody must concede, when envy is
turned into admiration,--as in the case of Napoleon. There was no one
chieftain among the Greeks who called out universal homage any more than
there was in the camp of Agamemnon before the walls of Troy. There were
men of ability and patriotism and virtue; but, as already noted, no one
of them was great enough to exact universal and willing obedience. And
this fact was well understood in all the cabinets