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In the end, it was the gendarmes who retreated. But as they disappeared from sight, a convoy of six-by-six trucks full of Massu's old paratroopers came roaring up, sirens screaming. And this time, unlike 1958, the army was not on the side of the mob. Slapping on an 8 p.m. curfew, General Maurice Challe, French commander in chief in Algeria, went on the air to declare a state of siege. While Algiers counted its casualties—19 dead, 141 wounded —Challe angrily blamed the ultras for starting the firing, and announced: "The uprising will never triumph over the French army. I am having regiments from the interior moved into Algiers."
The Murder Test. Already more Frenchmen had been killed by Frenchmen than in the 1958 uprising that brought De Gaulle back to power. The cruel irony was that this outbreak had in fact been successfully provoked by Algeria's Moslem rebels. Assembling in Tripoli in mid-December, the leaders of the rebellion reorganized their "government" by dropping four extremist "ministers" (known as "the men of Cairo" and "the men of Peking") and giving increased power to three ex-guerrilla commanders headed by tough, commonsensical Belkacem Krim (TIME, July 7, 1958). Since De Gaulle has long insisted that he will deal only with the military leaders of the revolt, the new rebel "Cabinet" seemed to smooth the path toward negotiations between France and the rebels. But before meeting with De Gaulle, the rebels had to have an answer to one vital question: Was the French army loyal enough to De Gaulle to impose on Algeria's European diehards the free elections and freedom from revenge which De Gaulle had promised if peace comes?
To put De Gaulle's power to the test, the rebel leaders, worsted in armed conflict in the hills, issued a deadly new order: concentrate on killing civilians. Within six weeks, rebel units in the field had killed, wounded or kidnaped 363 civilians—most of them hard-working small farmers in the Mitidja Plain around Algiers.
Half-mad with bereavement and fright, Algeria's Europeans were easily persuaded to blame all their troubles on De Gaulle. Relentlessly, right-wing politicians hammered at the argument that De Gaulle's offer of self-determination for Algeria was a display of weakness which encouraged the rebels to believe they could win independence by violence. But without the support of the army, the settlers could not hope to resist De Gaulle successfully. And though increasing numbers of junior officers outspokenly echoed the settlers' complaints, Old Gaullist Massu had long made it clear that, while he might grumble, he would never revolt against De Gaulle. In Paris late last week, reflecting on the circumstances of the Kempski interview, Massu—a brave soldier, but not a brilliant man—concluded that he had fallen into a trap somehow baited for him by ultra leaders.