Daisy Chains and Torpedoes at Tassafaronga, 30 November 1942

Fatigue, dehydration, and starvation plagued thousands of Imperial Japanese ground troops scattered across Guadalcanal in November 1942. Recent attempts to resupply these forces via “the Tokyo Express”—the employment of Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) destroyers to deliver supplies and equipment from Rabaul to Guadalcanal—were unsuccessful as American surface forces repeatedly thwarted or delayed their efforts. “None of the usual methods had been successful,” IJN Rear Admiral Raizō Tanaka remembered, “and our losses were proving prohibitive. Provisions and medical supplies were needed so desperately that daring expedients were called for to provide them.”[1] Tanaka suggested the parachuting of supplies, but the Solomon Islands Campaign had cost the Japanese many aircraft, an estimated 683 by the end of the campaign.[2] “Supply by air would have been tried if we had air superiority,” he recalled, “but we could not even claim this.”[3]
 
The acute need to resupply the Japanese on Guadalcanal forced the IJN to devise what Tanaka described as “the drum method.” Linked together with strong rope, sterilized 55-gallon metal drums loaded with medical supplies and foodstuffs became inanimate passengers aboard Japanese destroyers bound for Guadalcanal. In order to avoid Allied air attacks during the day, fast destroyers would depart Bougainville in the afternoon, planning to arrive off Tassafaronga Point at the northwest tip of Guadalcanal in the middle of the night. Once there, crew members quickly pushed the daisy-chained drums overboard so the destroyers could speed back north, hoping to get far enough distance by daybreak to avoid Allied bombs. With enough air space in each container to ensure buoyancy, the drums bobbed in the ship’s wake. As the IJN destroyers passed, a shore-based Japanese motor boat hooked the rope, and dragged the chain of supplies to the beach. “Unloading time was cut to a minimum,” Tanaka remembered, “and [the] destroyers returned to base with practically no delay.” The IJN also employed submarines to deliver supplies. Under the cover of night, to avoid Allied air attacks and U.S. Navy PT boat patrols, submarines met motor boats offshore and necessities changed hands as quickly as possible. These measures, Tanaka concluded, were both temporary and inefficient. A nightly provision of a few tons provided only enough supplies for one or two days. IJN surface forces received messages almost daily requesting emergency supplies. By the end of November 1942, “all staple supplies had been consumed” and troops “were now down to eating wild plants and animals. Everyone was on the verge of starvation.” Reports of the sick increased and the physically healthy experienced regular bouts of exhaustion.[4]
 
On 27 November 1942, eight IJN destroyers were ordered to resupply Guadalcanal by the drum method. Of the eight, six destroyers received provisions totaling between 200 and 240 drums each. “To accomplish this, reserve torpedoes were removed from these six ships, leaving in each only eight torpedoes—one for each tube—and cutting their fighting effectiveness in half.” Tanaka’s destroyers did not carry reserve torpedoes and were, therefore, limited to one round per torpedo tube. The squadron flagship Naganami and lead destroyer Takanami were absent of provisions and fully armed. As the squadron approached Guadalcanal, a reconnaissance plane reported twelve American destroyers and nine transport ships on the horizon. Although Tanaka believed that with so few reserve torpedoes, victory would be impossible, he initiated preparations for surface action. “There is a great possibility of an encounter with the enemy tonight,” Tanaka recalled exhorting to the ships under his command. “In such an event, utmost efforts will be made to destroy the enemy without regard for the unloading of supplies.”[5]
 
The Americans, however, were not oblivious to IJN plans to resupply Japanese ground troops at Guadalcanal. Reconnaissance reported an increase in IJN regional shipping concentrations at Buin and Shortland harbors on Bougainville, the main Japanese staging base southeast of Rabaul. In the span of three days, the number of IJN ships had doubled, totaling between 25 and 30. Although the U.S. Navy had won the naval battle of Guadalcanal earlier in November, its wounds were severe: 18 ships were lost or so badly damaged that they required “extensive repairs.” The only available surface units, with the exception of destroyers, were carrier Enterprise (CV-6), battleship Washington (BB-56), light cruiser San Diego (CL-53), and heavy cruisers Northampton (CA-26) and Pensacola (CA-24). Responding to the enemy’s aggressive posture, five cruisers, four destroyers, and one light cruiser converged at Espiritu Santo on 27 November. Initially grouped under the command of Rear Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid, Task Force 67 received orders to intercept any IJN surface forces approaching Guadalcanal.[6] Before Kinkaid could coordinate with his captains, however, he received orders from Admiral William Halsey to other duty on the West Coast of the United States.[7] Aboard the cruiser USS Minneapolis (CA-36), Rear Admiral Carleton H. Wright replaced Kinkaid as the officer in tactical command (OTC). Wright held a conference with the commanding officers of the nine ships of the task force he inherited, during which Kinkaid’s plan was “briefly discussed.”[8] According to the Secret Information Bulletin published by U.S. Fleet Headquarters four months later, Wright “assumed command, held a conference, issued his general doctrine, and sailed.”[9]
 
After action reports described the operational plan as a divided force of one destroyer and two cruiser units with each unit equipped with at least one SG radar and one CXAM, or SC-1, radar set.[10] Wright led Minneapolis, New Orleans (CA-32), and Pensacola as one unit. The second cruiser unit, led by Rear Admiral Mahlon S. Tisdale composed of Honolulu (CL-48) and Northampton. Drayton (DD-366), Fletcher (DD-445), Maury (DD-401), and Perkins (DD-377) were under the command of the Senior Destroyer Officer, Commander William M. Cole. These commanders assigned “radar guardships for continuous all-around search, and for surface search with SG equipment as practicable during the hours of darkness.”[11] Any object detected that could not be identified was to be reported over TBS to the unit commander, who was, in turn, responsible for acknowledging the report—likely a preventative measure to avoid the miscommunication experienced at Savo Island and Cape Esperance. The plan also set in motion three conditions for radar operation:
 

1. unrestricted radar use;
2. search equipment to be used only by the flagship or the radar guardship—a restriction designed to lessen the likelihood of the enemy picking up emissions from CXAM and SC radars, but not affecting the free use of SG and FC radars;
3. All CXAM, SC, and SC-1 radars to remain silent, responsibility for search falling to the SG’s.[12]

 
Upon contact, the plan ordered Cole’s destroyers to open the engagement with a torpedo attack, keeping the range at or higher than 12,000 yards and deploying star shell illumination when necessary. Such a considerable range, the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) concluded, was “to take full advantage of the opportunities offered by our excellent search and fire control radars.” Employment of searchlights were expressly forbidden—again, a preventative measure to avoid revealing the American formation as occurred in night surface actions at Savo Island and Cape Esperance.[13]
 
The historiography of the Battle of Tassafaronga is extensive, but after action reports and operational histories often neglect the sailor experience aboard the ill-fated American cruisers. Recent digital history initiatives by large institutions, including the Library of Congress, the National Museum of the Pacific War, and the Imperial War Museum, and small repositories, like the Louis B. Nunn Center for Oral History at the University of Kentucky and the University of North Texas Oral History Project, have made oral histories accessible, allowing for a much-needed shift to focus on the adrenaline-fueled actions of the sailors present at Tassafaronga. Aboard New Orleans, for example, Electrician’s Mate (Third Class) Harold Scott described illumination methods and his orders: New Orleans “had fired star shells and [had] [illuminated] the target, and our eight-inch rifles were pointed to the port side, firing away, and I was up on the searchlight platform. The only man up there because I was given [the] order, ‘Do not let those lights [be] [energized],’ and I had everything blocked out . . . [just] watching the fireworks.”[14]
 
Obscured by overcast, the moon did not make an appearance over the Lengo Channel on 30 November, making surface visibility difficult at two miles distant. In a line-ahead formation, Wright’s task force steamed ahead at 20 knots with cruisers maintaining a 1000-yard distance from the ship ahead and destroyers, 4000 yards. “In addition to the operating plan prepared by Rear Admiral Wright’s predecesser [sic], Rear Admiral T.C. Kinkaid, on 27 November, and revised for this operation,” Chester Nimitz reported later, “vessels received other instructions enroute,” including “orders to burn screened wake lights, a plan to open fire utilizing radar at about 12000 yards, and provision for destroyers to be stationed 4000 yards bearing 300° T., from the flagship after clearing Lengo Channel.” Upon launching torpedoes, the destroyer force was to clear “expeditiously” and engage gunfire as the cruisers opened fire. When the sun rose the following morning, the force was to bombard Japanese shore positions on Guadalcanal.[15]
 
At 2100 on 30 November, the destroyers Lardner (DD-487) and Lamson (DD-367) joined the task force, complying with orders from the Commander, South Pacific Force. It was not possible to update the commanders of these vessels with the operational plan and, as a result, Wright assigned these two destroyers astern. Investigators later condemned this addition as “unsound” and “a waste of material to throw forces together just prior to an action with no opportunity for OTC to issue instructions, doctrine, [or] orders.” By 2225, the force had cleared Lengo Channel, passing southwest of Savo Island. At 2306, Wright’s flagship, Minneapolis, located “two objects off Cape Esperance” at 23000 yards—an impossible distance to initiate a gun battle. As a result, Wright set Radar Condition 1, allowing for unrestricted radar use by the entire task force.[16] Tanaka’s force, at this time, had passed west of Savo Island, swinging southeast toward the designated unloading points off Tassafaronga Point and Segilau.[17]
 
At 2316, Commander Cole, in charge of the van destroyers, reported that the lead destroyer, Fletcher, was in a favorable position to fire torpedoes. After a three-minute delay—during which time the distance between the lead destroyer and Tanaka’s force increased by 300 yards—Wright gave the order to fire. At 2319, Fletcher fired ten torpedoes at 7300 yards, Perkins launched eight torpedoes at 5000 yards, and Drayton two more from an undisclosed distance, all of which missed their mark, the lead enemy destroyer Takanami.[18] In the five minutes from Cole’s initial request to fire, the two formations began to pass each other, with all ships opening fire as their guns began to bear. The almost two dozen torpedoes fired at Tanaka’s force were still in the water at the time Wright ordered the initial USN gun salvoes, invalidating the operational plan for a surprise torpedo strike.[19] Only after Wright’s star shell and gunfire salvoes did the Japanese destroyers bring their batteries to bear and loose their torpedoes with devastating proficiency.[20]
 
The destroyers fired between 50 and 100 service rounds before retiring. Japanese return fire straddled Perkins and, according to Admiral Nimitz, “the size of the splashes lead [sic] to the belief that a cruiser was firing.”[21] Perkins initiated evasive exercises: a smoke screen, increased speed, and zigzag maneuvers.[22] Concentrated fire from the Americans, Tanaka remembered, “inflicted many casualties in the Takanami, including her skipper, Commander Masami Ogura; the ship was burning and crippled.”[23] Meanwhile, Minneapolis continued to pick up new targets, totaling seven at the time of opening salvoes. Visibility was poor. IJN vessels were illuminated only by the flash of their gunfire and some star shells launched by the American force. And then the Japanese torpedoes arrived. At about 2329, Minneapolis and New Orleans received torpedo hits: “[T]he two ships and the surrounding ocean were a mass of flame from the gasoline in their forward storage tanks which were ruptured by the explosions.”[24] Minneapolis managed two full salvoes and turrets loaded for a third when the power abruptly failed. With Minneapolis immobilized, Wright transferred command to Rear Admiral Tisdale aboard Honolulu.[25] Historian Richard Frank aptly describes Minneapolis as “a mute spectator” for the remainder of the night action.[26] While Wright’s force had time to launch a coordinated torpedo attack, with all missing their intended target, the Japanese launched their torpedoes under immense pressure, but still managed to score many hits.

Gunners Mate (Third Class) James Gilbert Edwards, also attached to the cruiser New Orleans, provided an oral history for the Veteran’s History Project in 2003.[27] Edwards confirmed how New Orleans fired the star shells described by shipmate Scott. “I was hot shellman on the gun,” he affirmed. “We had just fired a round when the [first] torpedo hit.”[28] To avoid Minneapolis, New Orleans swung starboard when the torpedo struck the port bow at Turret 1.[29] Seawater splashed over the main deck in immense waves. “We had four feet of water up there and I thought we’s gonna sink right then . . . the ship it was, I mean, buckin’ and everything.” As the water receded, Edwards’ gun captain hollered for everyone to return to their stations. “We had the secondary explosion which blowed the bow off and it floated down beside the ship.”[30] The torpedo detonated the forward magazines and the explosion killed the entire crew manning Turret 2. Flooding commenced immediately.[31] The Bureau of Ships and the Bureau of Ordnance later estimated that at the time of the contact with the torpedo, the bomb and mine magazine contained one 160-pound demolition charge and forty-nine 100-pound bombs. The small arms magazine likely contained five 325-pound depth bombs. The detonations put the forward FC radar and TBS radar out of action.[32] Despite immense damage, New Orleans hobbled across the channel from Guadalancal to Tulagi at barely 4 knots, running aground “to keep it from sinking.” Her crew, Edward included, “cut trees and used ‘em to shore up the bulkhead.”[33] Twenty-two year-old Seaman (Second Class) Clarence J. Tibado[34], aboard the destroyer Pensacola at the time, observed from the deck:
 
"(A)ll five cruisers in our fleet concentrated their fire on just one target, leaving the rest of the enemy ships to maneuver freely against us. Once we were in range, they didn’t hesitate to launch their highly effective Long Lance torpedoes at us, with devastating consequences. . . Tanaka put up bright spreads of magenta-colored star shells over our heads for illumination, after we fired our dazzling white star shells over him. It was like the 4th of July, but with very deadly boomers. I saw enemy shell splashes in the water on our starboard side and heard others singing over our heads. Then, there was a heavy explosion just beyond our bow. The Pensacola turned to port, heading directly toward the enemy as we avoided wreckage in the water. My heart seemed to throb in my throat as we passed our fellow cruiser, Minneapolis, close to starboard. . . Then the burning New Orleans was seen, its bow gone. Both ships drifted and blazed out of control. Even in the height of the battle, I could hear their crews screaming and fighting for their lives. I could clearly see the crews running, puling fire hoses. There was no time for us to respond with help. As we passed, we were silhouetted against their flaming wreckage, allowing the enemy to easily spot us."[35]
 
Without a SG radar set, Pensacola struggled to locate enemy targets. But with proficient use of FC radar, gunners fired upon a target at 10000 yards. The target was later identified as a “3 stack light cruiser,” which then exploded and capsized after the fourth or fifth salvo. The FC set then gave off “a large signal,” characteristic of a larger ship. At 8000, deck hands observed it “to have a large stack like a ‘MOGAMI or YUBARI.’” Two salvoes caused it to explode and disappear from the FC screen. “It wasn’t long before a torpedo struck us just aft of the rear stack,” Seaman Tibado remembered. “Our deck rose like an ascending elevator. It sounded like huge redwoods cracking and falling. The forward part of the Pensacola and the foremast moved as if elastic.”[36] A Japanese torpedo then struck Pensacola on her port side, abreast of the mainmast. Compartments flooded, including the aft engine room, which caused a 13° list. Oil ignited, causing a geyser of flame that ignited the mainmast, killing the after fire control parties.[37] “More explosions of our ammunition erupted from the huge fire that was out of control.”[38] The tremendous heat from the flames made it difficult to suppress and Pensacola limped to Tulagi with fires raging. They did not subside for over twelve hours.[39]
 
[40]As New Orleans commenced firing, Northampton did the same using radar range and bearing from her fire control set.[41] By happenstance or by fate, William John Lamb, a Royal Navy Anti-Aircraft Officer, was present on the bridge of Northampton at the time of her demise. In an oral history conducted by the Imperial War Museum forty-six years later, Lamb not only captivated listeners, but provided a thorough account of the sinking of the American ship as well as insight into the discipline of the American sailors present at the battle:
 
"I was on the bridge right alongside the captain and I saw the torpedo tracks myself. Being after dark we didn’t see them until they were too close and evading action was not effective. It seems that the ship was hit in or about the diesel fuel tanks. Certainly the communication was lost between the bridge and the after turrets. One had to rely on the officers at the aft end of the ship taking the appropriate action for abandoning ship. . . After a relatively short time the ship heeled over and that meant the boiler room fans were no longer able to go because they were designed for operating in their upright state. Once the boiler room fans had to be stopped, the ship soon lost power and, thus . . . the power to fight fires or anything else. I mention the division of the ship into two because to my mind it was indicative of good discipline that the people at the aft end of the ship—which must have been getting very hot—had not abandoned ship until they had instructions to do so and thereby saved many lives."[42]
 

“Battle of Tassafaronga” by Clarence J. Tibado. Oil on Canvas, ca. 1943. (National Museum of American History)

Battle of Tassafaronga

“Battle of Tassafaronga” by Clarence J. Tibado. Oil on Canvas, ca. 1943. (National Museum of American History)

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Northampton survivors were in the water for approximately an hour, Lamb estimated. While in the water awaiting rescue, he followed a piece of advice he gleaned from General Instructions: “If you do have to abandon ship in the South Pacific,” he paraphrased, “don’t lose your shoes because if you haven’t got something on your feet when you get ashore, you’ll have your feet cut to bits.” Outfitted in a lifebelt and his shoes bearing down on his chest, Lamb used the ship’s paravane chains—“which are chains leading from the forefront of the ship up on to the deck”—to disembark. The Pacific waters surrounding Guadalcanal were not cold, but temperate. “The only thing one felt anxious about,” he recalled with a chuckle, was if “any sharks would come and take off the bottom of one’s leg or whatever. So I was anxious to get out of the water as quickly as possible for that reason rather than any other.” Patches of burning diesel and oil fuel dotted the surface of the water off Guadalcanal, temporarily identifying where Northampton came to rest in Iron Bottom Sound. After about an hour, two destroyers of Task Force 67 doubled-back and gently crept into the area at low speed, deck hands scrambling to help rescue their brethren from the water. Lamb “was most impressed by the ability and efficiency with which the Americans handled the situation.” Despite the loss of another ship in the struggle to hold the South Pacific, the Americans managed to maintain a sense of humor. As sailors hoisted Lamb and the others aboard with adept efficiency, he heard a voice ring out above him: “Look here! Look what I’ve got here! A bloody blighty!” After an hour of treading water, Lamb not only maintained possession of his shoes, but also his cover. Absent of the intricate scrambled egg embellishment on those of American officers, his visor cap identified him immediately as a member of the Royal Navy officer corps.[43] 
 
“The warheads of Japanese torpedoes must contain more explosive or a more powerful explosive than our torpedoes,” an unnamed officer aboard Pensacola reported to investigators. “The damage done by their torpedoes is terrific.”[44] Designed in 1928 for use aboard surface vessels—primarily destroyers and cruisers—the Japanese Type 93 Model 1, as the first 100% oxygen-fueled torpedo, was initially experimental. For years engineers tested the torpedo’s combustion and horsepower in extensive and thorough running trials. Several technological developments, including the use of pure oxygen at ignition and gyro and gyro mount improvements, were the central factors in the successful development of the Type 93 torpedo.[45] Oxygen replaced compressed air as the propellant, virtually eliminating gas bubbles and creating “only a slightly visible wake.”[46] Torpedoes generally operated by steam turbines powered by compressed air, fuel, and water (that became steam) in a combustion chamber. Replacing compressed air with oxygen reduced the weight of the torpedo and allowed for longer range or increased payload.[47] Richard Frank bestows high praise for Captain Torajiro Sato, the head of the Japanese column, who initiated “one of the most professionally skilled performances of any Imperial Navy destroyer commander of the war.”[48]
 
By the end of the war in the Pacific, U.S. Navy officials and intelligence personnel had evidence demonstrating the use of Type 93 torpedoes by surface ships of the IJN throughout the war, but with particular proficiency at the Battle of Tassafaronga. With all torpedoes expended, Tanaka ordered his remaining ships to retire without delivering supplies. A second attempt three days later to deliver 1500 daisy-chained drums was successful, but aerial strafing attacks by American pilots sank all but 310. “The loss of four-fifths of this previous material was intolerable,” Tanaka fumed, “when it has been transported at such great risk and cost, and when it was so badly needed by the starving troops on the island.” An investigation by the IJN concluded there were not enough shore personnel to haul in the lines and those who were present were too overcome with exhaustion to drag the supplies ashore.[49]