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

Jan 16 , 2026

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

Ernest Evans stood on the bridge of USS Samuel B. Roberts as hell rained from the sky. Flames kissed metal; enemy shells screamed overhead, tearing through the ocean and steel alike. Alone, outgunned, outmanned. But he refused to bow. His ship, a destroyer escort, was no match for the Japanese fleet bearing down on Leyte Gulf. Still, he gave his orders: charge. Fight. Die if you must. Never surrender.

From Iowa Farmboy to Warrior of Faith

Born in 1908, Ernest Edwin Evans grew up in Cherokee, Iowa. The son of modest farmers, his roots anchored in grit and discipline. Not a man of many words, but a man of conviction. He enlisted in the Navy, marking the start of a journey shaped by unwavering loyalty. His faith was quiet but firm—a compass in the darkest nights. Psalm 23 must have echoed in his mind:

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

His code was clear: protect those under his command, hold the line, and lead with sacrificial courage. Evans was no stranger to the weight of command; through peacetime and war, he learned that leadership meant being the first to face danger, and the last to retreat.

The Battle That Defined Him: Samar, October 25, 1944

The opening salvo of Leyte Gulf snapped the Pacific into chaos. Evans, commanding the USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413), faced a stark reality. His ship was a small, lightly armed destroyer escort. Opposing him was the might of the Japanese Center Force—the super-battleship Yamato, heavy cruisers, and destroyers numbering over twenty ships. His orders were to protect the escort carriers guarding the invasion fleet.

The enemy’s battle line loomed.

Evans made a decision that haunted the Japanese fleet for hours: engage aggressively, disrupt, and survive.

At 07:00 hours, Samuel B. Roberts steamed full throttle, laying down smoke screens. Evans ordered torpedo runs that scored direct hits, crippling heavy cruisers like Chokai. His destroyer escort darted between shells, ducking fire from guns double its caliber and weight class. His men fought like hell—six torpedo hits, hundreds of shell strikes—Evans kept yelling orders, steadying his crew.

He drove his ship straight into the lion’s den, sinking the myth of inferiority for destroyer escorts. By the time Samuel B. Roberts was fatally crippled and listing, Evans had bought precious hours and caused massive damage.

Before abandoning ship, Evans was last seen on the bridge, wounded but unyielding. His final act of command was a testament to sacrifice.

He went down with his ship on the morning of October 25, 1944.

Honors Wrought in Blood

For his indomitable spirit and relentless offense against overwhelming odds, Ernest E. Evans received the Medal of Honor posthumously. His official citation reads:

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty… as Commanding Officer of the USS Samuel B. Roberts, when his ship made a desperate attack… with gallantry and aggressive determination, he caused severe damage to the enemy fleet, thus contributing to the safety of the invasion forces.”[1]

Fellow sailors hailed him as a leader who “led by example, never ordering a man to do what he would not do himself.” Commander Clifton Sprague, who witnessed the fight, said,

“Evans was a warrior spirit—a man who stood his ground when no one else dared. His courage saved more lives than he could ever know.”[2]

Legacy Carved in Steel and Spirit

Ernest Evans embodies the essence of sacrifice: a man who stood between the fury of a great enemy and the lives of thousands. His last stand at Samar reminds us that valor isn’t measured by the size of your weapon but the depth of your will.

Scars do not diminish a warrior—they define him.

His story lives on in Navy traditions, ship namings, and in the eyes of every sailor who dares to confront impossible odds. Samar was not just a battle; it was a testament to the human spirit, punished and purified by fire.

His legacy whispers still: freedom demands sacrifice. Courage demands pain. Duty demands all you have—no less.

Let his last moment on that battered bridge be a reminder—

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

In the smoke and silence left by war, Ernest E. Evans’ blood calls us to remember. To honor the broken, the brave, and those who lead from the front—bearing scars not for glory, but for redemption. A warrior’s story, etched eternal.

Sources

[1] Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor Citation for Ernest E. Evans [2] Samuel B. Roberts Association, “The Battle off Samar: Commander Clifton Sprague’s Account”