Gisela nodded. "The hens are eagles--all over Germany," she announced
in her full carrying voice. "Word has come through from every quarter."
She flew down the Leopoldstrasse. It was packed with women from the
Feldherrnhalle to the Siegesthor, cheering women, waving their flags,
armed to the teeth. So was the great Park of the Residenz, the
Hofgarten, where the guards were either bound or dead. It took her but a
few moments to fly all over Munich. The narrow streets were deserted,
save for the prostrate policemen bound suddenly from ambush; but in all
the beautiful squares, with their pompous statues, and in all the wider
streets, and out in the wide Theresien Field before the colossal figure
of Bavaria, the women were gathered; relapsing into phlegmatic calm as
soon as she had given her message and passed.
But it was by no means a scene of unbroken dignity and silence. Here and
there groups of men in uniform lay dead, sword or pistol in hand. Once
Gisela flew low and discharged her revolver into the shoulder of a big
officer, half dressed and barely recovered from his wounds, who was
keeping off half a dozen women with magnificent sword play. The women
gave one another first aid, then lifted and pitched him into his house.
There was sniping, of course, from the windows, but the women made a
concerted rush and disposed of the terrified offender as remorselessly
as their own men had punished the desperate civilians of the lands they
had invaded.
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