Ernest E. Evans and the Last Stand of the USS Samuel B. Roberts

Feb 03 , 2026

Ernest E. Evans and the Last Stand of the USS Samuel B. Roberts

Ernest E. Evans stood alone in the eye of a storm he never asked for—but answered with every ounce of his being. His destroyer, USS Samuel B. Roberts, was a bullet against a battleship, a lone wolf snarling in a sea of steel and fire. The Japanese fleet surged forward like a tidal wave bent on destruction. Evans snarled back with guns blazing, knowing full well every choice edged him closer to a final stand.

Forged in the Fires of Duty

Born in Norwalk, Ohio, Ernest Edwin Evans was the kind of man shaped by grit and grit alone. He joined the Navy in 1929, rising through ranks not by chance, but by strict adherence to discipline and sacrifice. His faith was quiet but ironclad—rooted deep in a belief that honor meant more than survival. He wasn’t fighting for glory. He was fighting because to do less would be to lose himself.

Evans’ command style was razor sharp but fair. “Fight every inch,” he told his crew. “Leave everything on that deck.” This was a man who wore responsibility like a second skin. His men respected him fiercely—how could they not? He carried their lives like precious cargo and would burn for them first.

“So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12

The Battle That Defined a Legacy: Samar, October 25, 1944

The morning sun broke over the Philippine Sea. The tiny Task Unit 77.4.3—“Taffy 3”—laid out in a ragtag line. Three escort carriers, four destroyers, six destroyer escorts. Not a match for Vice Admiral Kurita’s mighty fleet—four battleships, six heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and eleven destroyers.

The call came: Japanese force sighted, heading straight for them.

Evans, in command of the Samuel B. Roberts, knew the chapter they were writing. His destroyer was older, smaller, slower—built for escort, not slugging matches with battleships. But he chose to fight, not flee.

He ordered full speed ahead. Guns screamed. Torpedoes launched like angry snakes into the sea. Amid fire and smoke, he darted his destroyer between massive enemy ships, blinding gunners with smokescreens and daring maneuvers. He struck Kurita’s flagship Yamato—the largest battleship ever built—with a ferocity that stunned enemies and allies alike.

The Roberts absorbed brutal punishment, taking hit after hit. Evans refused to back down. With engines dead and hull bleeding, he ordered the crew to abandon ship, staying on deck until the destroyer finally capsized and sank beneath the waves.

Medal of Honor: Valor Beyond the Call

Ernest Evans’ Medal of Honor citation reads like a testament to raw courage—half heroic action, half sacrificial death.

“For extraordinary heroism and distinguished service... Commanding the USS Samuel B. Roberts, he braved an overwhelmingly superior Japanese force... launching torpedo attacks and gunfire... which resulted in sinking the heavy cruiser Chikuma and damaging several other enemy vessels.”[^1]

His leadership bought precious time, saving the escort carriers and hundreds of lives. Survivors called him "the most fearless man I’d ever met.” Admiral Clifton Sprague, Taffy 3’s commander, said, “Evans exemplified every trait we hoped for in combat: courage, determination, self-sacrifice.”

Evans paid with his life. His ship lost. His body never recovered. Yet his spirit endured—etched deep in the bones of naval lore and American tenacity.

Beyond the Battle: Lessons Etched in Blood and Steel

Ernest Evans teaches us this: Courage is never about winning in the obvious sense. It’s about standing firm when the odds are grave and the price is personal. It’s about faith in your mission and the men beside you, even if hell awaits.

In a world that often chooses convenience over conviction, Evans’ story demands reckoning. It’s a call to bear the scars of sacrifice, knowing that some battles save more than ground—they save souls.

His legacy sits not in monuments but in the quiet resolve of every warrior who picks up the fallen’s fight. He embodied the truth that even the smallest voice can roar across the ocean when fueled by honor.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid… for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” — Joshua 1:9

Ernest Evans’ battle was brutal, brief, and final. But his remembrance remains eternal. In his blaze of glory, he sealed a promise: to fight for life’s most sacred duty—to defend, endure, and, when necessary, die so others may live free.

Sources

[^1]: United States Navy, Medal of Honor Citation for Ernest E. Evans, Naval History and Heritage Command. [^2]: Samuel Eliot Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, University of Illinois Press. [^3]: James D. Hornfischer, The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, Bantam Books.