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Variation on a Theme: Groping Blindly in the Dark at Savo Island and Cape Esperance

Oct. 5, 2022 | By Dr. Heather M. Haley, Historian, Naval History and Heritage Command
Low-hanging clouds drifted listlessly across a moonless sky on a tropical midsummer night. The occasional thunderclap stirred the silence and temporarily illuminated the otherwise calm seas that enveloped the Solomon Islands. In the months following the initial July 1942 occupation of Guadalcanal by Japanese forces, the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) led numerous convoys into the archipelago, depositing troops and construction crews on the island for the purpose of clearing land for an airfield near Lunga Point (Map 1). Within weeks of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, President Franklin Roosevelt affirmed the American commitment to support the British Commonwealth in securing the sea lines of communication from the west coast of North America to Australia.[1] A Japanese-controlled airfield on Guadalcanal, uncomfortably close to the logistics bases in the Southwest Pacific, threatened this effort.

Lunga Point area, Guadalcanal Island, Solomon Islands, undated. (NH 97763)
Lunga Point area, Guadalcanal Island, Solomon Islands, undated. (NH 97763)
Lunga Point area, Guadalcanal Island, Solomon Islands, undated. (NH 97763)
Lunga Point area
Lunga Point area, Guadalcanal Island, Solomon Islands, undated. (NH 97763)
Photo By: Courtesy
VIRIN: 221005-N-IP911-0004
On the night of August 7th and the early morning of August 8th, Maj. Gen. Alexander A. Vandegrift led the 1st Marine Division to “seize, occupy, and defend (1) Tulagi and adjacent positions, and (2) the Santa Cruz Islands (Ndeni), for the purpose of denying these areas to the enemy.”[2] The surprise American landings on Guadalcanal, Tulagi, and Florida islands initiated a long series of naval engagements with the IJN for control of the Solomon Islands.

Divided into two Transport Groups—XRAY for Tulagi and YOKE for Guadalcanal—the amphibious force met little resistance at first. With carrier plane bombing and strafing support, naval screening forces commenced a heavy bombardment of the Guadalcanal-Tulagi area.[3] This surprised the almost 1,850 Japanese occupying Tulagi and the 5,300 on Guadalcanal, and “opposition to the landing was slight in most places. There was none on Guadalcanal, where boats shuttled about 10,000 men ashore during the day.”[4] Bernard Reilly, a Marine veteran who enlisted three weeks before Pearl Harbor, remembered the initial bombardment against Guadalcanal: “the [American] troops just walked in.”[5] As daylight faded to muted shades of gray, almost 18,500 American troops funneled onto Guadalcanal, Tulagi, Florida, and the neighboring islands of Gavutu and Tanambogo.
 
Guadalcanal and Florida Islands, August 1942. From John L. Zimmerman, The Guadalcanal Campaign (Washington, D.C.: Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, 1949).
Guadalcanal and Florida Islands, August 1942. From John L. Zimmerman, The Guadalcanal Campaign (Washington, D.C.: Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, 1949).
Guadalcanal and Florida Islands, August 1942. From John L. Zimmerman, The Guadalcanal Campaign (Washington, D.C.: Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, 1949).
Guadalcanal and Florida Islands
Guadalcanal and Florida Islands, August 1942. From John L. Zimmerman, The Guadalcanal Campaign (Washington, D.C.: Historical Division, Headquarters, U.S. Marine Corps, 1949).
Photo By: Courtesy
VIRIN: 221005-N-IP911-0005
That night, August 8th, visibility in the vicinity of Savo Island was poor and visual confirmation of an air search radar contact made by USS Astoria (CA-34) was impossible. It was unclear if that contact, discovered at 2300, was a ship or a plane.[6] About the same time, USS San Juan (CL-54) sighted an aircraft flying eastward from the direction of the island. Forty-five minutes later, USS Ralph Talbot (DD-390), assigned to radar guard and antisubmarine patrol, ominously reported their sighting of “a cruiser-type plane” over short-wave voice radio (TBS) and the portable radio (TBO) used by Marines:
 
“WARNING. WARNING. PLANE OVER SAVO ISLAND HEADED EAST.”[7]
 
Radio operators flooded the airwaves with this message, repeating it for several minutes over both transmitters.[8]

Although ground observers struggled to identify the aircraft, its engine unmistakably punctured the evening calm. Some witnesses later claimed to Navy investigators that they saw the aircraft’s running lights. The radar shop in USS Quincy (CA-39) reported the plane and the bridge conveyed it to Control Forward. Unable to confirm the aircraft’s identity, the cruiser and other nearby ships continued their patrol northwest of the Guadalcanal anchorage. About an hour later, at 0100 on August 9th, another unidentified airplane passed forward over Quincy’s starboard side. Australia’s HMAS Canberra reported sounds of aircraft engines at the same time. Within minutes, a plane once again zoomed across Quincy’s port quarter. Lookouts struggled in vain to identify the planes, but haze and the dark, moonless sky, thwarted all attempts. While the bridge was aware of these contacts, they were not relayed to gunnery control stations and additional warning broadcasts to other ships ceased.[9]

Tension seethed through the crew of each ship. Suddenly, minutes before 0200, quiet gave way to action when the destroyer USS Patterson (DD-392) announced
“All ships! Warning. Warning.
Three enemy ships inside Savo Island![10]
 
Overcast skies and haze significantly degraded Allied spotting efforts and, according to the combat narrative authored by the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) within months of the battle, IJN ships “were never seen with sufficient clarity to make identification certain.”[11] Led by Admiral Gunichi Mikawa’s flagship Chōkai, a single file of two cruiser divisions—Sentai 6 and Sentai 18—and their escorting destroyers had sortied from Rabaul earlier that day and sped toward Tulagi and Guadalcanal with orders to destroy all U.S. landing and cargo vessels.[12] On the approach, Admiral Mikawa signaled the Japanese battle plan: “We will penetrate south of Savo Island and torpedo the enemy main force at Guadalcanal. Thence we will move toward the forward area at Tulagi and strike with torpedoes and gunfire, after which we will withdraw to the north of Savo Island.”[13] Fifteen years after the engagement, Imperial Navy Captain Toshikazu Ohmae remembered the immense optimism exhibited by his crew: “Our confidence of success in the coming night was manifest in the cheerful atmosphere on the bridge.”[14]

The IJN were fully prepared to open fire, while American and Australian forces were not yet at General Quarters.[15] Japanese lookouts had sighted Allied forces first, which were dimly backlit by a fire burning on a damaged transport off Guadalcanal. At 0138, Chōkai fired four torpedoes at Canberra and heavy cruiser USS Chicago (CA-29), but none hit their target. Japanese heavy cruisers Furutaka, Kako, and Aoba then opened fire as the Allied ships of the Southern Group became visible by flares dropped from Japanese floatplanes.[16] Someone aboard San Juan remarked to Navy investigators that the flares “were exceptionally large, blue-white, and intensely brilliant.”[17] By 0143, Canberra took as many as 24 hits with one below the waterline, causing the vessel to list starboard and stopping dead in the water. Chicago, the only other U.S. heavy cruiser in the Southern Group, was unable to identify viable targets from her main battery, but hit the light cruiser Tenryu with at least one 5-in. shell, causing substantial casualties. Within seven minutes, Mikawa’s cruisers had damaged or dispersed the Southern Group.[18] Lookouts in the Northern Group saw the sudden action to the southwest, but given the quickness of the action followed by eerie silence, assessed it incorrectly as shore bombardment, depth charges, or even a friendly fire incident. The lack of radio warning played a key role in keeping the Northern Group in the dark.
“Warning. Warning. Strange ships entering the harbor.”[19]
 
Steaming northeast, the skilled lookouts aboard Chōkai first spotted USS Vincennes (CA-44), a cruiser attached to the Northern Group. Mikawa implemented the same tactic that he used to cripple the Southern Group: his cruisers would attack with torpedoes first, then close for a gunnery attack. After closing the distance by three miles, Chōkai initiated their attack by firing four torpedoes toward Vincennes. At this time, the Northern Group was still trying to figure out what had happened to the Southern Group when Japanese searchlights floodlit Astoria, Quincy, and Vincennes (Image 1). The Japanese immediately engaged, managing several salvoes ahead of the U.S. Navy ships. Fifty-four shells of varying size ensured Quincy’s destruction and the American vessel became the first to rest in what would become known as “Iron Bottom Sound.” Quincy managed three salvoes in response, during which two 8-inch rounds landed on the bridge of Chōkai, narrowly missing Mikawa himself. As many as 74 shells pummeled Vincennes, paralyzing the ship, and the skipper ordered abandon ship. Astoria’s captain, unsure of what was going on given close-range fire and thick-clouds of cordite smoke, mistook Chōkai for a friendly ship and ordered cease fire, sealing her fate. Astoria ultimately succumbed to gunfire not only from Chōkai, but also from Aoba, Kinugasa, and Kado. At 0220, the Battle of Savo Island ended when Mikawa broke off action and withdrew to Rabaul.[20]
 
USS Quincy (CA-39) photographed from a Japanese cruiser during the Battle of Savo Island, off Guadalcanal, 9 August 1942. Quincy, seen here burning and illuminated by Imperial Japanese searchlights, was sunk in this action (NH 50346).
USS Quincy (CA-39) photographed from a Japanese cruiser during the Battle of Savo Island, off Guadalcanal, 9 August 1942. Quincy, seen here burning and illuminated by Imperial Japanese searchlights, was sunk in this action (NH 50346).
USS Quincy (CA-39) photographed from a Japanese cruiser during the Battle of Savo Island, off Guadalcanal, 9 August 1942. Quincy, seen here burning and illuminated by Imperial Japanese searchlights, was sunk in this action (NH 50346).
Enemies View
USS Quincy (CA-39) photographed from a Japanese cruiser during the Battle of Savo Island, off Guadalcanal, 9 August 1942. Quincy, seen here burning and illuminated by Imperial Japanese searchlights, was sunk in this action (NH 50346).
Photo By: Courtesy
VIRIN: 221005-N-IP911-0001
Commenting on the operation fifteen years later, Mikawa admitted the rationale behind his choice to engage Allied vessels at Savo Island in a night action. “My choice of a night action to accomplish this purpose,” to engage all of the forces in his command to destroy American and Australian ships, “was made because I had no air support on which to rely—and reliable air support was vital to anything but a night action.” The emphasis on night fighting and surprise, Mikawa added, “would insure [sic] our chances of success in such action, even without air support.”[21] Mikawa’s engagement did succeed, costing the Allies three U.S. heavy cruisers—Quincy, Vincennes, and Astoria—and one Australian heavy cruiser, Canberra. During those chaotic thirty-seven minutes, 1,023 Allied sailors died, with another 709 wounded. Five Japanese vessels suffered only minor damage with 58 sailors killed and an additional 70 wounded.[22] Three IJN cruisers, and veterans of Savo Island—Aoba, Furutaka, and Kinugasa—would return almost two months later only to experience an uncannily similar surprise attack from U.S. surface forces.
 
By late-September and early-October, given their inability to neutralize American air power on Guadalcanal, the IJN settled on a pattern of reinforcement convoys to supply reinforcements, provisions, and ammunition to the Japanese troops still fighting on Guadalcanal. Branded the “Tokyo Express” by the Americans, warships would depart Rabaul earlier in the day, pass between the New Georgia and Choiseul Islands, known as “The Slot,” deliver cargo to the northwestern cape of Guadalcanal, and retire by sunrise in the hopes of avoiding daylight attacks by American aircraft.

Although Japanese ground reinforcements did not have much success breaking through the U.S. Marine defensive lines at Henderson Airfield, their desperate attacks to wrest operational control of the island from the Allies began to wear down the defenders.[23] Army Gen. Millard F. Harmon penned a “personal conviction” to Adm. Robert Ghormley, claiming that the Japanese would retake the entirety of the island “in the near future unless it is materially strengthened.” He continued, “If we do not succeed in holding [Guadalcanal], our effort . . . will be a total waste—and loss.”[24] With Adm. Chester Nimitz’s support, and at Harmon’s urging, Ghormley ordered reinforcements to Guadalcanal.[25]

Commanded by Rear Adm. Norman Scott, Task Group 64.2 had the mission of covering the transports delivering the 164th Regiment of the 23rd “Americal” Infantry Division to the island. The primary mission, Ghormley ordered, was to “search for and destroy enemy ships and landing craft” and to protect the convoy from Japanese forces endeavoring to bombard or reinforce the island.[26] Historian Richard B. Frank argues that the assignment carried with it two additional “implicit” tasks: the development of night fighting doctrine and revenge for the American humiliation at Savo Island in August. Months of night actions preceding what would become known as the Battle of Cape Esperance witnessed the sinking of eight Allied cruisers and three destroyers while the IJN had suffered no warship losses.[27] Undoubtedly, Mikawa and his forces had the upper hand.

It is unclear if Admiral Scott intentionally incorporated any of Admiral Mikawa’s tactics at Savo Island into his battle plan, but there are numerous similarities. Nor is it known if Scott knew of or adopted any British Royal Navy night fighting doctrine, although it was possible.[28] What is known is that Scott trained his task force in intensive night action drills—tactics in which the IJN had demonstrated superiority—for two weeks prior to his engagement of enemy forces at Cape Esperance.[29] According to the War Diary of the heavy cruiser San Francisco (CA-38), the task force engaged in night searchlight exercises, night illumination practice against special targets, night firing exercises, night radar tracking drills, and an exercise focused on repelling a night destroyer attack.[30] The crew aboard USS Salt Lake City (CA-25) also participated in a series of night battle and firing exercises.[31]

Comprised of a single column led by San Francisco, followed closely by light cruiser Boise (CL-47), heavy cruiser Salt Lake City, and light cruiser Helena (CL-50), and screened by destroyers Farenholt (DD-491), Laffey (DD-459), Duncan (DD-485), Buchanan (DD-484), and McCalla (DD-488), the American task group was a variation on the theme executed by Mikawa two months prior at Savo Island. The destroyers, divided three ahead and two astern, were to illuminate contacts with searchlights “as soon after radar contact as possible” and independently “fire torpedoes at large ships and gun DDs and small craft.” The heavy cruisers were to maintain continuous fire at short range on small ship targets. The third and fourth cruisers and rear destroyers were “to keep watch on disengaged flank” and “open fire without order.” Most importantly, the forward and aft destroyers were to remain alert to changes of course.[32]

Scott’s plan, as analyst Trent Hone concludes, demonstrated a fundamental shift away from U.S. Navy pre-war tactics. In naval engagements predating the war in the Pacific, emphasis rested on looser formations that allowed for closer torpedo attacks from destroyers with long-range support from cruisers.[33] In an admission similar to that of Admiral Mikawa, Scott claimed his choice of a single line formation was because he found it “most practical for night action.”[34] A single column allowed for ease of coordination, maximization of firepower, and reduced the risk of the friendly fire that underscored the chaos at Savo Island. Described as a “double header,” the destroyers would be able to fight from both flanks simultaneously, from the van and the rear. The single column formation helped each ship conform to the movements of the ship ahead.[35] As Scott noted in his orders, “Changes of course may be numerous.”[36] Changes of course indeed occurred, with added miscommunication between Scott’s flagship and the van destroyers, resulting in momentary confusion at a critical moment when clarity was imperative.

At 2325 the surface search SG radar aboard Helena picked up a contact at 27,700 yards out. Under optimal conditions, SG radar could reliably identify large surface ships and aircraft at 10 and 30 miles out, respectively. One minute later, Salt Lake City identified three ships 16,000 yards distant. These contacts, however, went unreported to Admiral Scott. Aboard his flagship San Francisco, Scott shut down his SC radar, fearing the enemy would detect its signals.[37]

Concerned that steaming too far north would allow the enemy to pass unnoticed between Savo Island and Guadalcanal, Scott transmitted orders to reverse course. Over TBS, he announced: “This is CTF. Execute to follow: left to course 230.” Within thirty seconds, Scott initiated the order: “This is CTF. Execute.”[38] At 2333, the four cruisers executed column left about with San Francisco in lead. The lead destroyer, Farenholt, upon receiving the order, also swept to port, breaking the column, shifting the van destroyers to the rear position.[39] Capt. Robert G. Tobin, commanding the destroyers from Farenholt, noted the task “force reversed course left to 230° true” with the “cruisers executing column movement immediately.” He continued,
 
FARENHOLT turned to left followed by DUNCAN and LAFFEY. I gave orders to the Captain of the FARENHOLT to slow as necessary to remain astern of the cruisers until it could be ascertained whether DDs which had been in the rear were following cruisers in formation, or had turned to take new van positions. As soon as I determined that they were following astern of the cruisers, I ordered the Captain to speed up and take position ahead of cruisers, going up on their starboard flank. Up to this time there had been no contact of enemy forces in the vicinity, and from previously reported position of enemy forces, it was estimated that they would be Southeastward of our own forces, or on cruisers port flank.[40]
 
The motions listed in the after action report from the cruiser Boise support Tobin’s account. In addition, Boise’s track chart confirmed: “cruisers countermarched in column to 230° T. Van destroyers commenced regaining station ahead, proceeding up on starboard side of cruisers.”[41] It was only after Tobin discerned that the rear destroyers Buchanan and McCalla turned in the wake of the cruisers, that he ordered the van destroyers to increase speed starboard of the cruisers to regain their positions in the column.[42]

Scott’s intended countermarch. From Samuel Eliot Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, August 1942-February 1943, vol. 5, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1949), 155.
Scott’s intended countermarch. From Samuel Eliot Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, August 1942-February 1943, vol. 5, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1949), 155.
Scott’s intended countermarch. From Samuel Eliot Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, August 1942-February 1943, vol. 5, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1949), 155.
The Struggle for Guadalcanal
Scott’s intended countermarch. From Samuel Eliot Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, August 1942-February 1943, vol. 5, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1949), 155.
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VIRIN: 221005-N-IP911-0006
Following the turn, Helena used the General Signal Procedure over TBS and requested to open fire at the nearer targets at 2346. This was misinterpreted by Scott as a request for the Group Commander to acknowledge the ship’s last transmission of a radar contact. Scott’s response of “Roger,” he confirmed later, was his acknowledgement of their previous TBS transmission, not authorization to engage the enemy. Helena, however, commenced firing with the understanding that Scott’s “Roger” was consent to open fire. Scott later reported that Helena did not need his permission because his advance orders instructed “all captains to open fire without order when the enemy was located.” Scott later admitted, “The ‘Roger’ episode shows our lack of training.”[43] According to World War II-era Communication Instructions, “Roger” had a double meaning, both of which applied here. “Roger” could signal commence fire or acknowledge receipt of a message.[44] In the days preceding the Battle at Cape Esperance, the task force trained extensively in repelling destroyers and night firing exercises. The group would have also benefitted from drills that centered on clarity of TBS communications.

A minute later, at 2347, Scott ordered all ships to cease fire. In a situation akin to that experienced at Savo Island, Scott was concerned about friendly fire because he did not know the position of the destroyers. Scott radioed Tobin to confirm his position, to which Tobin responded, “Affirmative; coming up on your starboard flank.”[45] “It took some time to stop our fire,” Scott noted in his official report, “in fact it never did completely stop.” And indeed, Scott was right to be concerned, as destroyer Farenholt received several friendly fire hits at the waterline and suffered damage to her radar antenna. “During this period very little fire was received from the enemy. He was not only surprised,” Scott reported, “but was in a poor formation.”[46]

Rear Adm. Aritomo Gōto had arranged his force in a “T” formation with his flagship Aoba in the lead followed by cruisers Furutaka and Kinugasa, and two destroyers, Hatsuyuki and Fubuki, screening the port and starboard flanks respectively. Upon receiving the initial volley of American shells, Gōto ordered a movement to the right in the belief his force was a victim of friendly fire from an IJN reinforcement group led by Rear Adm. Joshima Takaji. Gōto had no active radar aboard his flagship, did not suspect the proximity of American naval forces, and did not understand his force was under hostile fire. The IJN found themselves effectively in the same precarious situation as the Allies almost two months before at Savo Island.[47]
 
Enemy force as disclosed by Boise SG radar. From Office of Naval Intelligence, Solomon Islands Campaign: Battle of Cape Esperance, 11 October 1942, and Battle of Santa Cruz Islands, 20 October 1942, vols. IV and V, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: Publications Branch, 1943), 10.
Enemy force as disclosed by Boise SG radar. From Office of Naval Intelligence, Solomon Islands Campaign: Battle of Cape Esperance, 11 October 1942, and Battle of Santa Cruz Islands, 20 October 1942, vols. IV and V, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: Publications Branch, 1943), 10.
Enemy force as disclosed by Boise SG radar. From Office of Naval Intelligence, Solomon Islands Campaign: Battle of Cape Esperance, 11 October 1942, and Battle of Santa Cruz Islands, 20 October 1942, vols. IV and V, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: Publications Branch, 1943), 10.
Battle of Cape Esperance
Enemy force as disclosed by Boise SG radar. From Office of Naval Intelligence, Solomon Islands Campaign: Battle of Cape Esperance, 11 October 1942, and Battle of Santa Cruz Islands, 20 October 1942, vols. IV and V, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: Publications Branch, 1943), 10.
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After confirming the location of friendly destroyers, San Francisco and Boise recommenced firing on Aoba, the lead ship of the approaching force. Given the distance, the heavy cruisers fired over destroyers Farenholt, Duncan, and Laffey, which were still racing to regain their van positions in the column. American lookouts observed a choking cloud of black smoke billowing from Aoba and, with her foremast toppled, they believed the warship out of action. Hit in quick succession by 24 shells, a direct hit to the bridge mortally wounded Rear Admiral Gōto. His chief of staff, Captain Kikunori Kijima, took command.[48] At 2149 a shell struck Furutaka’s torpedo tubes, igniting a raging fire and illuminating the Japanese formation. Cruiser Kinugasa and destroyer Hatsuyuki, which had veered to port in the opening salvoes, escaped the fray with minor damage. The destroyer Fubuki was not so lucky and, after being identified by searchlights, was raked by fire from Boise and San Francisco. The ship burst into flames and became another vessel to line Iron Bottom Sound. In the minutes remaining before midnight, all American ships—with the exception of the disabled Farenholt which had retreated to the disengaged side of the column—pummeled the Japanese force with little return fire. Buchanan launched five torpedoes at Furutaka. Incapable of evasive maneuvers, the Japanese heavy cruiser received a hit in her forward engine, causing her to lose power.[49]

Sailor W.R. Martin points out details of the Japanese trophy flags painted on the cruiser's pilothouse as a scoreboard of enemy ships claimed sunk in the Battle of Cape Esperance, 11-12 October 1942. The six Japanese ships (two heavy cruisers, a light cruiser and three destroyers) represented in this scoreboard greatly overstates the actual enemy losses, which were one heavy cruiser (Furutaka) and one destroyer (Fubuki) sunk and one heavy cruiser (Aoba) badly damaged. This overclaiming was typical of contemporary night surface actions. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, Pennsylvania, soon after Boise arrived there for battle damage repairs in November 1942. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
Sailor W.R. Martin points out details of the Japanese trophy flags painted on the cruiser's pilothouse as a scoreboard of enemy ships claimed sunk in the Battle of Cape Esperance, 11-12 October 1942. The six Japanese ships (two heavy cruisers, a light cruiser and three destroyers) represented in this scoreboard greatly overstates the actual enemy losses, which were one heavy cruiser (Furutaka) and one destroyer (Fubuki) sunk and one heavy cruiser (Aoba) badly damaged. This overclaiming was typical of contemporary night surface actions. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, Pennsylvania, soon after Boise arrived there for battle damage repairs in November 1942. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
Sailor W.R. Martin points out details of the Japanese trophy flags painted on the cruiser's pilothouse as a scoreboard of enemy ships claimed sunk in the Battle of Cape Esperance, 11-12 October 1942. The six Japanese ships (two heavy cruisers, a light cruiser and three destroyers) represented in this scoreboard greatly overstates the actual enemy losses, which were one heavy cruiser (Furutaka) and one destroyer (Fubuki) sunk and one heavy cruiser (Aoba) badly damaged. This overclaiming was typical of contemporary night surface actions. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, Pennsylvania, soon after Boise arrived there for battle damage repairs in November 1942. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
Scoreboard
Sailor W.R. Martin points out details of the Japanese trophy flags painted on the cruiser's pilothouse as a scoreboard of enemy ships claimed sunk in the Battle of Cape Esperance, 11-12 October 1942. The six Japanese ships (two heavy cruisers, a light cruiser and three destroyers) represented in this scoreboard greatly overstates the actual enemy losses, which were one heavy cruiser (Furutaka) and one destroyer (Fubuki) sunk and one heavy cruiser (Aoba) badly damaged. This overclaiming was typical of contemporary night surface actions. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, Pennsylvania, soon after Boise arrived there for battle damage repairs in November 1942. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
Photo By: Courtesy
VIRIN: 221005-N-IP911-0002
Torpedoes launched at Boise by Kinugasa missed their mark. Boise’s searchlight, however, targeted Kinugasa and, conversely, revealed the location of the American column. Volleys from Kinugasa struck Boise’s bow, forward turret, and number two magazine under the waterline. Analysis of after action reports recommended that “illumination should be by starshell, except at very close ranges, since searchlights provide a good point of aim for enemy fire control.”[50] Boise moved out of the column, port side, and Salt Lake City resumed her position in the column, shielding Boise from further attack. Fires from Boise’s deck, however, had the unfortunate effect of silhouetting Salt Lake City and, as a result, Kinugasa fired on Salt Lake City. The cruiser suffered two 8-inch shells, but caused only minor damage as each lost momentum, the second burrowing into her framing and exploding in front of a boiler. This damage caused Salt Lake City to reduce speed to 22 knots[51] At 0016 on October 12th, Scott ordered a heading of 330° to pursue, but the “somewhat broken” column quickly lost sight of the enemy and Scott “decided to retire.”[52]

The IJN cruisers Aoba and Furutaka managed to escape further attack, but Furutaka succumbed to fire damage and sank at 0040. In approximately thirty-three minutes, the IJN lost heavy cruiser Furutaka and destroyer Fubuki. Their flagship Aoba was barely salvageable. The Japanese estimated over 400 casualties, including Rear Admiral Gōto. The Battle of Cape Esperance was the first night engagement the Japanese lost in World War II. The Americans, although elated at their victory, were not without their own losses. The destroyer Duncan sank six miles north of Savo Island after taking simultaneous hits from “four or more shells,” investigators discovered, “including several from our cruiser column.”[53] The light cruiser Boise received heavy damage, “one shell apparently exploded on impact as it blew a 4 ft. by 5 ft. hole in the 12 lb. outboard bulkhead.”[54] Despite the American victory of the surface action at Cape Esperance, the Japanese reinforcement group, led by Joshima, completed their mission successfully and without interference, delivering ground troops and equipment to Guadalcanal.

The “double header” formation Admiral Scott chose for the patrol off Cape Esperance was a variation of that exhibited by Mikawa two months before at Savo Island. Both commanders acknowledged the importance of a tight single column formation for the same reasons, because such a formation reduced the possibility of friendly fire while maximizing engagement arcs. The similarity of Mikawa and Scott’s formations suggest the presence of adaptable night fighting doctrines, as each assessed similar situations and reached a similar disposition.[55] Misunderstanding and lack of communication prevented Scott from making a fully informed tactical decision, however, as he directed a turn to the west without realizing the presence of Japanese units. Problems in transmission resulted in his lead destroyers—Farenholt and Duncan—becoming caught between the heavy units of both sides. They consequently took both friendly and enemy fire, resulting in 163 American casualties. In addition, Boise, Salt Lake City, and Farenholt suffered damage, two of which required dockyard repairs.[56] While Task Force 64.2 successfully repelled Gōto’s ships, the group was ineffective in preventing the reinforcement group from landing on Guadalcanal.

Seaman First Class Charles Olinger points out shell fragment damage to the ventilation trunk at the front of the superstructure, just above the main deck. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in November 1942. This damage was received during the Battle of Cape Esperance, 12 October 1942. It was caused by a shell that struck the face of turret # 3 and detonated on impact. The explosion was about thirty feet away from the damage seen here. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
Seaman First Class Charles Olinger points out shell fragment damage to the ventilation trunk at the front of the superstructure, just above the main deck. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in November 1942. This damage was received during the Battle of Cape Esperance, 12 October 1942. It was caused by a shell that struck the face of turret # 3 and detonated on impact. The explosion was about thirty feet away from the damage seen here. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
Seaman First Class Charles Olinger points out shell fragment damage to the ventilation trunk at the front of the superstructure, just above the main deck. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in November 1942. This damage was received during the Battle of Cape Esperance, 12 October 1942. It was caused by a shell that struck the face of turret # 3 and detonated on impact. The explosion was about thirty feet away from the damage seen here. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
The Aftermath
Seaman First Class Charles Olinger points out shell fragment damage to the ventilation trunk at the front of the superstructure, just above the main deck. Photographed at the Philadelphia Navy Yard in November 1942. This damage was received during the Battle of Cape Esperance, 12 October 1942. It was caused by a shell that struck the face of turret # 3 and detonated on impact. The explosion was about thirty feet away from the damage seen here. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives. (NHHC 80-G-36296)
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VIRIN: 221005-N-IP911-0003
 
[1]  Office of Naval Intelligence, Solomon Islands Campaign: The Landing in the Solomons, 7-8 August 1942, vol. I, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: Publications Branch, 1943), 1, 3.
[2]  Ibid., 5.
[3]  Ibid., 7, 24-29, 34-36.
[4]  United States Fleet, Headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Battle Experience: Solomon Islands Actions, August and September 1942 including Bombardment of Kiska, 7 August 1942, Secret Information Bulletin No. 2 (Washington, D.C.: Navy Department, 1943), 10-1; Office of Naval Intelligence, The Landing in the Solomons, 4.
[5]  Bernard William Reilly (AFC/2001/001/92962), Transcript (MS04), Veterans History Project Collection, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress.
[6]  Memorandum by W. H. Truesdell, “Statement of W.W. Johns, FClc, USN,” Statements from Surviving Personnel, August 18, 1942, WWII War Diaries, 1941-1945; Record Group 38: Records of the Chief of Naval Operations, 1875-2006; National Archives at College Park, MD [hereafter WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA] (accessed through fold3). Typically installed on destroyers and larger ships, the SC shipborne radar was a long-wave search set used to search for aircraft and surface vessels. They had a reliable maximum range of 30 miles, but could have been extended to 75 miles with a preamplifier. For more information on the types of radar used by the U.S. Navy in World War II, see Operational Characteristics of Radar Classified by Tactical Application.
[7]  United States Fleet, Headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Battle Experience: Solomon Islands Actions, August and September 1942 including Bombardment of Kiska, 7 August 1942, 11-5.
[8]  Winston B. Lewis, Solomon Islands Campaign: The Battle of Savo Island, 9 August 1942, and The Battle of the Eastern Solomons, 23-25 August 1942, NHC ed., vol. II, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: Naval Historical Center, 1994), 5.
[9]  Ibid., 4-5.
[10]  Richard W. Bates and Walter D. Innis, The Battle of Savo Island, August 9, 1942: Strategical and Tactical Analysis (Newport: Naval War College, 1950), 137, Box 1, Folder 3, World War II Battle Evaluation Group Records, Naval Historical Collection Archives, U.S. Naval War College, Newport, RI.
[11]  Lewis, Solomon Islands Campaign: The Battle of Savo Island, 45.
[12]  Mark Stille, The Naval Battle for Guadacanal 1942: Clash for Supremacy in the Pacific (Oxford: Osprey, 2013), 38.
[13]  Gunichi Mikawa quoted in Toshikazu Ohmae, “The Battle of Savo Island,” in United States Naval Institute Proceedings, ed. Roger Pineau, 83, no. 12 (1957): 1271.
[14]  Ohmae, “The Battle of Savo Island,” 1270.
[15]  United States Fleet, Headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Battle Experience: Solomon Islands Actions, August and September 1942 including Bombardment of Kiska, 7 August 1942, 11-5, 11-6.
[16]  Bates and Innis, The Battle of Savo Island, August 9, 1942, 116.
[17]  Lewis, Solomon Islands Campaign: The Battle of Savo Island, 6.
[18]  Stille, The Naval Battle for Guadacanal 1942, 39, 40.
[19]  Lewis, Solomon Islands Campaign: The Battle of Savo Island, 6.
[20]  Samuel Eliot Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, August 1942-February 1943, vol. 5, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (Boston: Little, Brown, 1949), 40-53; Richard B. Frank, Guadalcanal: The Definitive Account of the Landmark Battle (New York: Penguin Books, 1992), 107-112; Trent Hone, The Battle of Guadalcanal, Naval History Special ed. (Annapolis, MD: U.S. Naval Institute Press, 2022), 13-14.
[21]  Gunichi Mikawa quoted in Ohmae, “The Battle of Savo Island,” 1278.
[22]  Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, 63; Thomas McCool, “Battle of Savo Island—Lessons Learned and Future Implications” (USAWC Strategy Research Project, U.S. Army War College, 2002), 16.
[23]  Office of Naval Intelligence, Battle of Cape Esperance, 11 October 1942 and Battle of Santa Cruz Islands, 26 October 1942, vol. IV, Combat Narratives (Washington, D.C.: ONI Publications Branch, 1943), 1; Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, 145, 149.
[24]  Millard F. Harmon quoted in Frank, Guadalcanal, 293.
[25]  Frank, Guadalcanal, 293; Hone, The Battle of Guadalcanal, 31.
[26]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Memorandum for Task Group Sixty-Four Point Two,” October 9, 1942; WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA.
[27]  Frank, Guadalcanal, 293.
[28]  See James P. Levy, “Royal Navy Fleet Tactics on the Eve of the Second World War,” War in History 19, no. 3 (July 2012): 379-395.
[29]  Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, 148.
[30]  “War Diary, U.S.S. San Francisco for the Period September 1, to September 30, 1942,” WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA; “War Diary, U.S.S. San Francisco for the Period October 1, to October 31, 1942,” WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA.
[31]  “War Diary, U.S.S. Salt Lake City From: October 1, 1942 to October 31, 1942,” WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA.
[32]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Memorandum for Task Group Sixty-Four Point Two;” United States Fleet, Headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Battle Experience: Solomon Islands Actions, October 1942, Secret Information Bulletin No. 3 (Washington, D.C.: Navy Department, 1943), 20-2, 20-3.
[33]  Hone, The Battle of Guadalcanal, 32.
[34]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Report of Night Action, 11-12 October 1942,” October 22, 1942; WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA.
[35]  Memorandum by Gilbert C. Hoover, “Action off Savo Island, Night of 11-12 October,” October 20, 1942; WWII Diaries; RG 38, NARA; Hone, The Battle of Guadalcanal, 32.
[36]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Memorandum for Task Group Sixty-Four Point Two.”
[37]  Office of Naval Intelligence, Battle of Cape Esperance, 7.
[38]  Norman Scott quoted in Office of Naval Intelligence, Battle of Cape Esperance, 9.
[39]  Office of Naval Intelligence, Battle of Cape Esperance, 9.
[40]  Memorandum by R. G. Tobin, “Report of Action of Savo Island, Solomons, Night of 11-12 October 1942,” October 23, 1942, WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA. Authors have long debated whether or not Scott mistakenly ordered San Francisco, and the cruisers by extension, to turn to port ahead of the destroyers. Some authors argue that Scott made the turn in response to knowledge of the arriving Japanese force, while others chalk the maneuver up to serendipity. A close reading of the after action reports of Tobin, Scott, and Nimitz, however, support the contention that Scott made the turn without foreknowledge of the immediate presence of the Japanese force. Nimitz, in his report, wrote: “up to [the turn], and for a few minutes afterward, the Group Commander had received no radar contacts . . . definite radar contacts made by at least two cruisers before the turn were not made known to the Group Commander.” Memorandum by C. W. Nimitz, “Solomon Islands Campaign, Second Savo Island Action, Night of 11-12 October 1942,” December 26, 1942; WWII Diaries; RG 38; NARA.
[41]  “USS Boise Track Chart Action off Cape Esperance Oct. 11-12, 1942,” WWII War Diaries; RG 38; NARA.
[42]  Memorandum by R. G. Tobin, “Report of Action of Savo Island, Solomons, Night of 11-12 October 1942.”
[43]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Report of Night Action 11-12 October 1942.”
[44]  United States Fleet, Headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Battle Experience: Solomon Islands Actions, October 1942, 20-36; Memorandum by R. G. Tobin, “Report of Action of Savo Island, Solomons, Night of 11-12 October 1942;” Memorandum by C. W. Nimitz, “Solomon Islands Campaign, Second Savo Island Action, Night of 11-12 October 1942.”
[45]  Memorandum by R. G. Tobin, “Report of Action of Savo Island, Solomons, Night of 11-12 October 1942.”
[46]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Report of Night Action 11-12 October 1942.”
[47]  Morison, The Struggle for Guadalcanal, 151, 158.
[48]  Frank, Guadalcanal, 307.
[49]  Frank, Guadalcanal, 304.
[50]  Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, Battle Experience, 20-34; Memorandum by C. W. Nimitz, “Solomon Island Campaign, Second Savo Island Action, Night of 11-12 October 1942.”
[51]  Frank, Guadalcanal, 306.
[52]  Memorandum by Norman Scott, “Report of Night Action 11-12 October 1942.”
[53]  Office of Naval Intelligence, Battle of Cape Esperance, 20.
[54]  Navy Department, U.S.S. Boise (CL-47) Gunfire Damage, Savo Island 11-12 October 1942 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Hydrographic Office, 1943), 2.
[55]  A new analysis on early-twentieth century U.S. night fighting doctrine will be released next year (2023) from the Naval Institute Press. See also Trent Hone, “‘Give Them Hell!’: The U,.S, Navy’s Night Combat Doctrine and the Campaign for Guadalcanal,” War in History 13, no. 2 (April 2006) and “Building a Doctrine: U.S. Naval Tactics and Battle Plans in the Interwar Period,” International Journal of Naval History 1, no. 2 (October 2002).
[56]  Frank, Guadalcanal, 310.