Where is vella la cava

Walker made the correct assumption that he had lost any element of surprise. Walker attempted to raise Larson via TBS talk-between-ships without success, as the distance between to two U. So, at the start of the engagement, it was three U.

Rear Admiral Ijuin believed he was up against a much larger force than he actually was. The Japanese scout plane had reported four U. As the battle commenced, Ijuin blew a chance to cross the U.

In the confused maneuvers that followed, the Japanese destroyer Yugumo charged the U. As the closest target, Yugumo drew fire from all three U. At , the U. Yugomo fired eight torpedoes at the U.

Shortly after, at , Yugumo was hit by one of the slower U. The torpedo that struck Chevalier detonated the forward magazine, which blew the whole bow off forward of the bridge.

The two ships were entangled and locked together, taking both out of the battle. Walker, aboard Selfridge , the lead destroyer, continued to press the attack against what he now assumed were nine-to-one odds. Selfridge engaged the group of two Japanese destroyers until , when she was hit by one of 16 torpedoes fired by Shigure and Samidare. With all three U. Ijuin would claim that his force sank two U.

Walker, on the other hand, reported sinking three Japanese destroyers and believed that he was the victor. However, in the heat of the destroyer battle, the Japanese barges and auxiliaries had managed to get into Vella Lavella and successfully extract the last Japanese troops on the island. Thus, the Japanese accomplished their mission at the cost of one destroyer and dead. Despite heroic damage control on the Chevalier , it quickly became apparent that she could not be saved.

Selfridge regained power and backed out of the battle area. PT boats—an unusually large number who gave themselves up. Captain Frank Walker would be awarded the Navy Cross for his audacious action against a much larger Japanese force. Packham, in command for all of four days, would receive a Silver Star. Rear Admiral Ijuin would survive the sinking of the Japanese light cruiser Sendai during the Battle of Empress Augusta Bay in November , being rescued by a Japanese submarine, but his luck would run out when his flagship a patrol boat at Saipan was torpedoed and sunk in Sources include: History of U.

Back to H-Gram Summary. Navy "Seabee" built road that connected Liapari to Ruruvai. Niarovai Located on the eastern coast between Ruravai to the north and Gill's Plantation to the south. War Memorial to NZ forces who landed in September located at this location. Gill's Plantation During , American forces established their division headquarters and field hospital at this location. The only European building on the island was located here and used as a rest area for soldiers.

Lambu Lambu Cove Lambulambu Located on the northeastern coast of the island, Kimbolia is located further to the north. PT Boat base was relocated here from Laipari which proved to be unsuitable. Japanese freighter sunk here in 12m, reportedly visibility is poor. Kimbolia Located on the northern coast of Vella Lavella Island. During late , an American radar station was established at this location. During the night of October 6, the remainder of the Japanese were evacuated by a destroyer force during the Naval Battle of Vella Lavella.

Vorambare Bay Location of the last battles between the Japanese and American forces during the recapture of the island. Japanese holdout sighting in Contribute Information Do you have photos or additional information to add? Map Sept Unexploded Ordnance UXO. How You Can Help. Japanese missions against Vella Lavella August October 31, for the remainder of the Solomons campaign until the war moved northwards.

They shoved off around 11 A. The injured continued to ride as passengers, while two or three hands straddled the rims and paddled; everyone else remained in the water, clinging to the sides, kicking and pushing the craft along.

All that day they inched toward Kolombangara, but it was hard, exhausting work. Chew tried to ease the strain by developing a system of rotation. Every so often one of the swimmers would take a turn in the raft itself, along with the injured. But there was room for only one or two at a time, and as things worked out, a man could expect only ten minutes of rest every two hours.

Nightfall, and Kolombangara seemed as far away as ever. One of the injured men died, and all were badly off. They were bone-tired, hungry, and utterly discouraged. As the night wore on, the yearning for sleep grew overwhelming. No matter how hard they fought it, some succumbed, loosened their grip, and were gone for good. Major Kelly knew the danger, and tried desperately to stay awake.

Once he nodded, found himself floating away from the group, and barely made it back. Next time, he stayed asleep, and when a mouthful of salt water woke him up, it was almost dawn and he was alone in the sea. He started swimming north, and if he needed any stimulus, it was provided by two fish, about three or four feet long, that showed great interest in his bare feet.

He splashed, shouted, kicked, and they departed. By now it was clear to the men on both rafts—and also to the Helena survivors clinging to other rafts and bits of wreckage—that they would never get to Kolombangara.

Both wind and current were carrying them steadily northwest. Their best hope lay in Vella Lavella, the next island up The Slot. Two paddles were lashed together to form a crosstree, and the shirts were then stretched between them.

Warren Boles was the guiding light. He was from Marblehead, Massachusetts, and had known how to sail before he could ride a bike. For most it was their first food since leaving the Helena. But at sundown they were still a long way from Vella Lavella, and it was clear they would be spending another night in the water. Their hearts again sank. It was as bad as they feared. By now the men were so exhausted, hallucinations were common.

A groggy, waterlogged Ensign David Chennault kept asking Bausewine for a cigarette. Those resting simply refused to get back in the water, and Chew was too weak to make them do it. Seeing he had lost control, he decided to swim for it. Vella Lavella looked pretty close now; once ashore, maybe he could get some native help. Warren Boles and two other men joined him, and around 7 A.

Two hours … three hours … six hours passed. Clearly Vella Lavella was much farther off than it looked. Exhausted, they drifted apart and lost sight of each other. By mid-afternoon Chew was only half-awake. Sometimes he found himself swimming in the wrong direction; other times he went deep under water for no logical reason. Boles, the best swimmer, seemed more aware of things. Spotting a stretch of beach he liked, he methodically made for it. Stumbling ashore, he found a coconut in the sand, cracked it open for a drink.

Then he crawled under a bush a few yards inland and went to sleep. Chew was just about all-in, when he sighted two natives paddling a canoe toward him. One of the natives looked so venerable, Chew thought of him as Moses.

Reaching shore, they explained they would hide him, and asked if he could walk. Certainly, Chew replied, and collapsed in his tracks. For ten miles along the beach a remarkable scene began to unfold. Native canoes darted out, plucking men from the water. At other points, rafts and individual swimmers rolled in with the surf. Here and there dazed men wandered about, trying to get their bearings. Coxswain Chesleigh Grunstad felt overwhelmingly content. He was on dry land at last. Looking down the beach, he could see others coming ashore.

Then one man was washed up almost at his feet. He was wearing a red money belt, and it reminded Grunstad of his own money, a roll of two-dollar bills fastened to his dog tags.

He loosened the roll and began drying the bills. The other man began doing the same—only his bills were all twenties. Major Kelly stuck to his raft all the way in. Finally ashore, he had his party hide it under some trees. They were just in time.

Minutes later a flight of Japanese dive bombers roared by, only four hundred feet overhead. Kelly next sent a man along the beach in each direction to scout out the situation. The man who went southward returned in a few minutes with a pound can of coffee—at last they were beginning to get some breaks. It was a quiet day at Toupalando, the little village high in the interior of Vella Lavella where the Coastwatcher Henry Josselyn had recently moved his camp.

Josselyn had now been on the island more than eight months, reporting Japanese ship and plane movements, rescuing downed airmen, keeping an eye on Iringila, the main Japanese strong point in the area. So far he had easily dodged the enemy patrols, but they were increasing in number, and when one party landed only three hundred yards from his supply depot at KiIa KiIa, he had shifted his radio deeper into the interior.

This eased the pressure a little, and today he had gone off on some errand, leaving his assistant, Sublieutenant Robert Firth, in charge of the station. At the moment, it was not an especially taxing assignment—just a lazy, tropical afternoon. From time to time Firth raised his binoculars and checked the Japanese post at Iringila, but nothing unusual was going on.

Suddenly the torpor was broken by a native scout hurrying up the path to the camp. To prove it, he produced a set of U. Navy dog tags. Bobby Firth needed better proof than that. Like most Allied fighting men, he attributed almost limitless guile to the Japanese. He feared this might be just one more of their tricks: a clever charade staged to make the Coast watchers reveal themselves. He quickly radioed KEN, the base station on Guadalcanal, supplied the name and serial number on the tags, and asked them to check it out.

In an hour KEN was back. The Japanese had outposts near both places, and fast work was needed to clear the castaways from the beaches before enemy patrols began picking them up. A runner dashed off to alert Bamboo, the native chief in the area where the survivors were landing.

He was to send out canoes to pick up any men still in the water, plant a string of sentries to watch for Japanese patrols, and stand by to help with food and housing. Another messenger hurried to the Reverend A.

Silvester, the coastwatching missionary, who was currently at Maravari on the southeast coast. He would take charge of the eastern group of survivors landing near Lambu Lambu. Josselyn himself would take on the western group, at Paraso Bay and Java.

Firth would stay at Toupalando—and later at a camp still deeper in the interior—handling the teleradio traffic with KEN. Everything set, Josselyn headed for the village of Java, where the first survivors had been sighted.

Time was so important that he traveled all night to get there. Supper was a hodgepodge of papaya, coconuts, taro, and fish stew. Normally indigestible to Americans, perhaps, but after three days of nothing to eat, nobody complained.

It was food. Shortly after dawn the next morning, July 9, they were awakened by their hosts. Using a mixture of pidgin English and sign language, the natives explained that everyone must leave the beach area. Then, as the group sleepily formed up in the early daylight, out of the jungle appeared a slim white man, hair almost down to his shoulders. It was Henry Josselyn. Asking for the senior officer present, Josselyn took Bausewine aside and explained how urgent it was to move inland at once.

The coast was alive with Japanese patrols and barge traffic. The men were still weak from their three days on the raft, but there was no time for rest. They hobbled inland, camping later in the day, deep in the jungle, where giant trees hid them even from snooping planes.

Twelve miles down the coast a native named Mickey organized the rescue of the other group of survivors at Lambu Lambu Cove. When Ensign Don Bechtel came ashore on the evening of the eighth, one native undressed him, another fed him, a third led him to a clearing where he could rest. More survivors were collected; then, with Mickey leading, the group started inland. Mickey led them first through a jungle swamp, where the men sank up to their knees; then along a hard, rocky trail that climbed into the hills.

Finally, after two and a half miles, they came to a clearing with a wooden shanty. To Jack Chew it looked like a typical summer vacation shack on the Chesapeake Bay. It was the house of a Chinese trader named Sam Chung, who was using the building as a hideout in the hills for himself and his family. Sam tactfully moved out, and the place became an impromptu camp for the Helena survivors brought up by Mickey. Inside, Chew found a few pieces of crude furniture, a shotgun with one shell, a pair of white shorts, and a pair of sneakers.

With his own dungarees split and chafing his skin, he tried on the shorts. Miraculously, they fit. Then he tried on the sneakers. Even more miraculously, they fit too. During the evening more survivors turned up, and then the Reverend Silvester arrived, looking anything but clerical in a short-sleeved shirt and old khaki shorts.

A native walked beside him with the walkie-talkie. Next day, the ninth, a few more survivors trickled in. Last to arrive was Warren Boles, who had spent the night on the deserted beach where he landed. Boles had only a six-inch knife, so he did the diplomatic thing. He threw his own knife to the ground and gestured friendship. The native understood no English, but he knew exactly what to do. This was no longer a small band of castaways; this was a whole village—a village deep in enemy territory.

To survive, Commander Chew realized they must have rules, assignments, lines of authority, and all the trappings of an organized community. A thoroughly professional career officer, he nevertheless had an informal touch that came in handy in these strange surroundings.

On the Helena his lucky brown shoes had been a trademark. He would be in charge of defense, sanitation, and the maintenance of law and order.