Nov 08 , 2025
Ernest E. Evans and Samuel B. Roberts at the Battle off Samar
Ernest E. Evans stood alone on the bridge of USS Samuel B. Roberts. The sea churned like hell around him. Four enemy battleships. Six Japanese cruisers. A swarm of destroyers. They outgunned him. Outmanned him. But he would not break. Not while his men still fought.
The Making of a Warrior
Born October 13, 1908, in Indiana, Ernest Edwin Evans wasn't destined for easy glory. A Midwestern boy grounded in grit and quiet faith, he enlisted in the Navy in 1927. Years before Pearl Harbor’s shockwave, Evans learned hard discipline and relentless duty aboard destroyers. His compass was steady, forged in the rudder of humility.
Faith was a quiet ember beneath his combat steel. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)
His sailors saw more than a captain; they saw a man who never asked his crew to do what he wouldn’t do himself—who counted on them as brothers in the furnace of war.
The Battle That Defined Him: Samar, October 25, 1944
The morning sun rose on Leyte Gulf. Evans commanded the USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413), a John C. Butler-class destroyer escort. A small ship, lightly armed, designed to screen and protect the fleet—not slug it out with the cream of the Japanese Navy.
But war does not wait on design.
That morning, Task Unit 77.4.3, known as “Taffy 3,” stumbled into the might of Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita’s Center Force—four battleships, six heavy cruisers, and eight destroyers. The Japanese fleet was a leviathan hungry for destruction. Samuel B. Roberts was a Davids on the shore of Goliaths.
Evans gave the order no man wanted to hear: Close with the enemy. Attack.
He maneuvered Samuel B. Roberts into deadly range—firing torpedoes, unleashing every ounce of her scant firepower. His ship danced on the edge of annihilation under relentless bombardment.
When the Roberts was crippled by heavy shellfire, Evans urged her wounded crew to keep fighting. She charged at the Kongo’s battleship stern, launching torpedoes that struck with deadly precision.
Evans’ defiance threw the enemy off balance. His attack shielded withdrawing escort carriers—buying time, lives. Eventually, Samuel B. Roberts broke apart, sunk beneath the waves. Evans went down with her.
Valor Etched in Blood
Posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, Evans was lauded for “gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty.” His citation reads:
“With skill and daring, he attacked vastly superior forces, inflicting severe damage and disorganizing the enemy’s advances to the enduring safety of our task unit.”
Survivors remembered his voice, steady as the storm raged:
“We’re making a torpedo run. I want every one of you to know your Captain loves you.” – Captain Ernest E. Evans, documented by Navy survivor accounts^[1].
His sacrifice electrified the Navy’s resolve. The Battle off Samar became a story not of defeat, but of courage crushing overwhelming odds.
What Evans Left Behind
Ernest Evans’ legacy is not just headlines or medals. It’s every grunt who looks at impossible odds and keeps moving forward. It’s the raw truth that courage is carved by choice, often at the final hour.
He was a man who understood resurrection beyond death—a warrior grounded in faith and brotherhood, choosing sacrifice so others might live.
“No greater love hath a man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)
Through his blood-soaked example, Evans reminds us that honor is forged in battle’s fire, and redemption in freedom’s cost.
For Those Who Carry the Scars
His story is a beacon for veterans—those who carry unseen wounds of war. Evans fought for something greater than himself. He carried the weight of command, and he paid the eternal price with no regrets.
His legacy is a challenge:
Stand firm when the world bends you. Trust your brothers in arms. Die so others live free.
The echoes of Samuel B. Roberts’ siren call still bark across the Pacific winds. Evans’ name carved into the annals of valor—a reminder: the greatest battles demand us to be more than warriors. They call us to be saints of sacrifice, keepers of light in the darkest hells.
Ernest E. Evans did not just die. He lived in every act of courage since.
And in that eternal fire, we find our true strength.
Sources
1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413) Action Report 2. Barrett Tillman, Clash of the Carriers: The True Story of the Marianas Turkey Shoot of World War II 3. Medal of Honor Citation, Ernest E. Evans, U.S. Navy 4. Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume XII: Leyte
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