In the Lions' Den

"De Gaulle to the gallows!" shouted the European mobs in Oran and Algiers to whom he had once been hero. They had been powerful enough in 1956 to rout Premier Guy Mollet with a barrage of tomatoes and dangerous enough in 1958 to bring down the Fourth Republic. Now they threatened death or disfiguration if President Charles de Gaulle dared to set foot in Algeria.

Indomitable, Charles de Gaulle boarded a Caravelle jet plane at Orly airport and flew to Algeria. Arriving in a driving rain, his first stop on a six-day tour was in Ai'n Temouchent, a market town near Oran, where 9,000 Moslems and 8,000 angry Europeans jammed the main square. Some Moslems, on order of their employers, held up banners reading "Algeria null but it was the Europeans who did most of the shouting. A valiant half-dozen Moslems suddenly raised a sign inscribed "Vive De Gaulle!" It was torn from their hands three times while the police looked on.

Piercing Whistle. The rain-drenched crowd chanted a rhythmic "Algerie Franqaise" and accompanied the refrain with piercing three-short and two-long whistles. Ignoring the clamor, De Gaulle climbed from his car, waved cordially, and entered the town hall to address local dignitaries. When he emerged, the square reverberated with caterwauling shouts and whistles. De Gaulle ambled in his camel gait straight into the crowd at the point where the shouting was loudest. Startled Europeans fell back. Some were so nonplused that they paused in mid-scream to shake his hand.

Tall and solemn, De Gaulle marched on until he reached the mass of apathetic Moslems, who might boycott De Gaulle's projected referendum or be coerced into voting no. His presence set them wild with delight. Moslem men roared "Vive De Gaulle!" Moslem women tried to kiss his hand. A small Moslem boy gave De Gaulle everything he had--his sodden luncheon sandwich. For nearly a quarter of an hour, De Gaulle was literally lost in a sea of grinning, cheering faces. To make sure no harm could come to him, the Moslems formed a compact mass and escorted De Gaulle back to his car, where his bodyguards were waiting, pale with apprehension. Said a tough French general: "It was one of the most moving things I have ever seen."

Your Algeria. The tumultuous weather followed De Gaulle on his helicopter flight across western Algeria to the ancient Moslem city of Tlemcen, as recently as last year a fanatic stronghold of the F.L.N. rebels. Landing in a hailstorm, De Gaulle received a wildly enthusiastic reception from the city's overwhelmingly Moslem population.

Speaking to a group of Moslem municipal councilors and mayors, De Gaulle said, "I am glad to be in your great country," and went on: "Your future is in your hands. Algeria is yours, all of you without exception. Since the Moslem community is by far the most numerous, I say it is up to you to show your sense of responsibility, your worth, your importance. In truth, it is a new life which Algeria is about to begin in liberty, equality and fraternity."

De Gaulle warned the Europeans--who are certain to vote against him--that the "new" Algeria could not be built without their help and the help of France. But De Gaulle's special appeal was to the army, which could rig next month's election against him if it chose, intimidate Moslems into abstaining or voting no. Addressing the officers of the garrison, he again spoke of the "new" Algeria, which "must be herself, otherwise--and you know this only too well--she will sever all her links with France." He set two tasks for the army: "First of all, to prevent things going badly from the security point of view, which has not yet been completed. Second, fraternity [with the

Moslems], which has scarcely begun. I count on you all to help me."

Dismayed Enemies. At week's end. De Gaulle had sailed as safely through the political storms as through the rain and hail of Algerian weather--though he had stayed out of Algeria's biggest cities. In Paris, his right-wing opponents in the Assembly were reduced to hand-wringing pleas (''the motherland cannot abandon its sons!"). There were only three leaders with the dynamism to rally the European extremists of Algiers--General Raoul Sa-lan, fiery Pierre Lagaillarde and Jacques Soustelle. once both a Cabinet member and close friend of De Gaulle. Not one of them was in either Algeria or France. General Salan has been sulking in Spain for six weeks. Young, red-bearded Pierre Lagaillarde, given "provisional liberty'' by the military tribunal trying him for his part in last January's insurrection in Algiers, fled to Spain last week, asking for political asylum. His friends in Algiers were dismayed. "I can't understand what came over Pierre," moaned one. "His trial was going so well!" Jacques Soustelle, the most dangerous man of all and De Gaulle's most gifted opponent, curiously chose last week to visit the U.S., where he answered newsmen's questions with despairing shrugs.

Serene Salaud. On De Gaulle's arrival in Algeria, rioters surged through Algiers and Oran, but were easily contained by helmeted police using tear-gas bombs and "defensive" grenades, which explode with a loud noise but do little damage. Some diehards built a barricade in Algiers' Rue Michelet. This time the army did not stand idly by--two tanks clanked forward and shattered the feeble rampart of bed springs, paving stones and garbage cans.

But next day the mob came back for more. From balconies and rooftops, demonstrators showered roof tiles and bricks on the advancing lines of police. Leather-jacketed young men hurled Molotov cocktails, which burst into flowers of orange flame and clouds of oily smoke. In a doorway a young girl, her eyes streaming from tear gas, screamed at the police: "Executioners!" Dangerous but disorganized the mob fought furiously, but with an aimless fury born of frustration.

Deserted by their leaders, deprived of the tacit support of the army, faced by the oppressive knowledge that De Gaulle will almost certainly win next month's referendum in France, it was the European extremists who seemed on the brink of defeat. An exiled leader may suddenly appear from Spain, somebody might rally them; the French army, in some turn of events, might come to their aid. De Gaulle this week was, among other things, gambling with his own life. The cards he held were courage, personal prestige, the voice of reason, and his serene conviction that he is the embodiment of French glory and grandeur.

It might just be enough. Watching De Gaulle move fearlessly through the mobs, a right-wing activist said in grudging admiration: "He's a pigheaded salaud, but there's no denying he's got guts."

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