On a foggy December morning in 1916, the USS H-3 (SS-30), a proud member of the Navy’s fledgling submarine fleet, met her match not in enemy waters but on the unforgiving sands of Samoa, California. It began as a routine patrol for the Pacific Fleet’s H-class submarine. But heavy fog and treacherous coastal currents conspired to ground her near Humboldt Bay. What followed was a dramatic tale of ingenuity, missteps, and perseverance—a saga that not only tested the Navy’s resolve but also claimed another vessel, the USS Milwaukee (C-21), in its wake.
The USS H-3 was a symbol of early 20th-century naval innovation. Originally named Garfish, she was built by the Moran Company in Seattle, Washington, and commissioned in 1914. At just over 150 feet in length and equipped with four torpedo tubes, H-3 represented the cutting edge of undersea warfare. Stationed on the Pacific Coast, she patrolled from California to Washington, honing the Navy’s submarine operations during exercises with her sister ships, H-1 and H-2.
In contrast, the USS Milwaukee, a St. Louis-class protected cruiser, was a relic of a slightly earlier naval philosophy. Laid down in 1902 and commissioned in 1906, she boasted impressive firepower with her 6-inch and 3-inch guns. By 1917, Milwaukee had been relegated to a tender role, supporting destroyers and submarines. Despite her age, the Navy saw her as a robust asset—one capable of assisting in the salvage of the stranded H-3.
The morning of December 14, 1916, began like many others along the rugged northern coast of California, where thick fog often cloaked the shoreline, reducing visibility to near zero. For the USS H-3 (SS-30), an H-class submarine engaged in routine operations, this fog proved disastrous. Attempting to navigate the narrow, challenging entrance to Humboldt Bay, her crew fell victim to the perilous combination of poor visibility and strong coastal currents. What should have been a straightforward maneuver quickly spiraled into a catastrophe. The H-3 found herself thrust onto a sandy beach near Samoa, California, trapped in an unforgiving embrace of sand and quicksand.
When the tide receded, the submarine was stranded nearly 75 feet from the waterline, surrounded by unstable ground that gave way under any significant pressure. High tide brought a bitter irony—the waves stretched 250 feet beyond her, emphasizing the impossible gulf between the beached vessel and the ocean she once commanded. H-3 was effectively marooned, her sleek hull a stark anomaly against the backdrop of coastal dunes.
The Coast Guard’s Humboldt Bay Life-Saving Station wasted no time responding to the emergency. Upon reaching the scene, they found the crew stranded but safe, perched aboard the grounded submarine as the Pacific surf roared around them. Using breeches buoys—a rescue system involving a pulley rig and a life ring—the Coast Guard devised a way to shuttle the men from the submarine to the safety of the shore.
The operation was both daring and efficient. Despite the hazardous conditions, every member of H-3’s crew was brought ashore without injury. The Coast Guard’s quick action earned widespread praise, but their success was only the beginning of a much larger challenge: salvaging the submarine itself. While the crew rested in makeshift camps along the Samoa Peninsula, the Navy began plotting how to free their stranded vessel from her sandy tomb.
The first attempts to rescue H-3 fell to two Navy tugboats, Iroquois and Cheyenne. These vessels were no strangers to tough missions, but the sheer scale of the challenge quickly became apparent. The beach’s quicksand acted like a vice, gripping the submarine’s hull and resisting every effort to dislodge her. Moreover, the powerful surf complicated operations, making it difficult for the tugs to maintain stable positions close to shore. Each pull seemed to sink H-3 deeper into the sand rather than free her from it.
After days of effort, it was clear the tugs alone would not succeed. The Navy then began to look outward, soliciting bids from professional salvage firms. They received two proposals: one from a major marine salvage company, which quoted a staggering $150,000 to tow H-3 into deeper waters offshore, and another from the Mercer-Fraser Company, a lumber outfit based in nearby Eureka, California. Mercer-Fraser’s bid was radically different in both cost and approach—they proposed dragging the submarine overland across the Samoa Peninsula for just $18,000.
Despite the enticing affordability of the Mercer-Fraser bid, Navy officials initially rejected it, deeming the overland method too risky and unconventional. At the same time, the $150,000 offer was dismissed as prohibitively expensive. These competing considerations created a frustrating impasse for the Navy, which was already facing pressure to resolve the situation. Public interest in the marooned submarine was growing, and H-3’s plight became a source of fascination for both local residents and national observers.
The beach itself posed additional challenges. Samoa’s coast was not just a difficult environment for ships—it was a logistical nightmare for any large-scale operation. The sands shifted unpredictably, and the tides limited access to critical areas during salvage efforts. Each failed attempt underscored the enormity of the task, testing both the patience and ingenuity of all involved.
As days turned into weeks, H-3 became a symbol of the Navy’s struggle against nature. Her crew, while safe, remained marooned on the beach alongside their submarine, making the best of a difficult situation. For the Navy, the pressure mounted to find a solution, and soon, they turned to an unlikely savior: the USS Milwaukee, a St. Louis-class protected cruiser stationed in the Pacific Fleet. Confident in Milwaukee’s strength, the Navy pinned their hopes on her, believing she could succeed where the tugs had failed.
In the meantime, H-3 sat immobile, a lonely figure on the sands of Samoa, awaiting her fate. The story of her grounding had only just begun, and the trials that followed would become one of the most memorable naval operations of the era.
The USS Milwaukee arrived at Humboldt Bay under the temporary command of Lieutenant William F. Newton. Tasked with rescuing H-3, the cruiser carried the weight of Navy expectations. With her powerful engines and reinforced hull, Milwaukee seemed more than capable of towing the submarine back into deeper waters. Yet, as she approached the breakers near Samoa Beach, her fate was sealed by a combination of misjudgment and environmental force.
Local mariners, familiar with the treacherous conditions of the area, had warned against such an operation. The breakers near Samoa Beach were notorious for their strength and unpredictability, capable of overwhelming even the most formidable vessels. Newton, under orders to proceed, disregarded these warnings and directed Milwaukee into the surf. The cruiser’s keel struck the sand, and she ground to an abrupt halt, becoming irreversibly mired in the breakers.
As the waves crashed against her, Milwaukee’s situation quickly worsened. The surf battered her hull, driving her deeper into the sandy bottom with each tide. Within hours, it was clear that the ship was beyond salvation. The sight was both awe-inspiring and tragic—one of the Navy’s proud cruisers reduced to a helpless hulk, exposed to the relentless force of the Pacific Ocean.
With Milwaukee immobilized, the focus shifted to saving her crew. The Coast Guard’s Humboldt Bay Life-Saving Station once again rose to the occasion. Using breeches buoys and small boats, they worked tirelessly alongside local volunteers to evacuate the stranded sailors. It was a remarkable operation, made all the more impressive by the adverse conditions.
All 421 enlisted men and 17 officers were rescued without injury, a testament to the professionalism and bravery of the Coast Guard and their civilian counterparts. As the crew watched from the safety of the shore, their ship remained behind, succumbing inch by inch to the encroaching sea. The sight of the stranded Milwaukee, so recently a symbol of strength and confidence, was a somber reminder of nature’s indifference to human ambition.
The grounding of Milwaukee was a severe blow to the Navy, both materially and symbolically. A cruiser of her class represented a significant investment in resources and technology. Built in 1906, she was one of the Navy’s earlier protected cruisers, boasting a length of over 426 feet and armed with an array of 6-inch and 3-inch guns. Her capabilities, though somewhat outdated by 1917 standards, were still substantial, and her loss was keenly felt.
Milwaukee was formally decommissioned on March 6, 1917, less than two months after her grounding. Efforts to salvage her were deemed futile; the pounding surf had already caused severe structural damage. By November 1918, storms had broken the ship in two, scattering her remains along the coast. What was left of her was sold for scrap in 1919, bringing a final, ignoble end to her story.
The loss of Milwaukee was not without consequences for those involved. Lieutenant Newton’s decision to proceed despite local warnings drew criticism, though it is unclear whether he faced formal censure. The incident highlighted the Navy’s overconfidence in its own resources and its underestimation of the local environment. For the sailors who had served aboard Milwaukee, the loss was deeply personal—a proud ship reduced to wreckage by circumstances beyond their control.
In the public eye, Milwaukee’s loss was met with a mixture of sympathy and critique. Newspapers chronicled the drama of her grounding and the heroic efforts to rescue her crew. At the same time, questions were raised about the Navy’s judgment in sending her into such a perilous situation. For many, the incident symbolized the thin line between confidence and hubris.
Though Milwaukee’s physical presence was erased by time and tides, her story endures as a chapter in naval history that is both cautionary and inspiring. Her loss, while tragic, paved the way for the successful salvage of H-3—a reminder that even in failure, there is room for innovation and growth. For those who served aboard her, Milwaukee was more than just a ship; she was a testament to the courage and resilience of the sailors who faced the relentless forces of nature with determination and dignity.
Today, the sands of Samoa, California, hold little trace of the cruiser that once graced their shores. But the story of USS Milwaukee lives on, a poignant reminder of the risks inherent in maritime service and the enduring spirit of those who navigate the unpredictable seas. Her grounding stands as a solemn tribute to the challenges faced by the Navy during an era of rapid technological and strategic change, an event etched not only in the sands of Samoa but in the annals of history.
Milwaukee’s loss forced the Navy to reconsider the Mercer-Fraser bid. Against all odds, the lumber company executed their daring overland salvage plan. Using massive log rollers, a team of workers painstakingly hauled the 467-ton submarine across the Samoa Peninsula. The operation, completed on April 20, 1917, was a remarkable feat of engineering and determination. H-3 was refloated in Humboldt Bay and returned to service.
Remarkably, H-3’s ordeal did not end her career. She resumed her duties with the Pacific Fleet, serving as the flagship of Submarine Division 7. In 1922, she made the long journey to Hampton Roads, Virginia, where she was decommissioned, ending a career as storied as the sands that once trapped her.
The grounding of H-3 and the subsequent loss of Milwaukee left a lasting imprint on naval operations. For the Navy, it was a sobering lesson in risk management and the hazards of coastal salvage. The decision to involve Milwaukee, despite local warnings, highlighted the dangers of overconfidence and the consequences of disregarding expert advice.
Yet these events also showcased the resilience and ingenuity of the Navy and civilian contractors alike. The successful overland salvage of H-3 was a testament to human creativity and determination, demonstrating that even the most daunting obstacles can be overcome with the right approach.
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