Ernest E. Evans and the Samuel B. Roberts' Last Stand at Samar

Jan 20 , 2026

Ernest E. Evans and the Samuel B. Roberts' Last Stand at Samar

Ernest E. Evans stood alone on the bridge of USS Samuel B. Roberts. The roar of approaching Japanese battleships filled the dawn mist. His destroyer escort, a mere blip against the monstrous Imperial fleet, was about to pay the price for defiance. Yet, Evans gritted his teeth and gave the order: charge headfirst into hell.

The Making of a Warrior

Born in 1908 in Pawnee, Oklahoma, Evans grew into a man forged by grit and resolve. The quiet kindness of the heartland masked a steel soul. His faith was a hidden armor, a quiet discipline that stiffened his resolve under fire.

He carried the weight of duty like a cross, grounded in values handed down by church and country—honor, courage, sacrifice. His men felt it too. Evans was no distant captain; he was a warrior who bore their scars.

Before the war, Evans served in the Navy, rising through the ranks with steady, unflashy dedication. But it was on the Pacific’s brutal seas his mettle would be burned bright like steel in fire.

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

The Battle off Samar is etched as one of WWII’s most desperate naval clashes. The story is stark: a small escort carrier task group—the “Taffy 3”—found itself face-to-face with a Japanese Center Force, a fleet twice the size and overwhelming firepower. Evading collapse depended on courage, quick thinking, and sheer will.

Evans commanded the USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413), a destroyer escort originally built for anti-submarine and convoy duty. Against battleships like Yamato and heavy cruisers bearing guns that dwarfed his ship’s weapons, Roberts was outmatched. Yet Evans gave the order no man would envy: attack.

He led the charge with reckless precision.

His ship closed distance under heavy fire, launching torpedoes and firing its limited batteries with furious intent. The mission: disrupt the enemy, protect the carriers, delay destruction at all costs.

Evans' Samuel B. Roberts turned hard into the enemy, narrowly dodging shells that ripped into her hull. The destroyer’s last fight was brutal and close. After exhausting torpedoes and ammunition, Roberts rammed a Japanese cruiser, trading wood and steel in a testament to sacrificial valor.

Within hours, the ship was mortally wounded. Despite orders to abandon ship, Evans remained on the bridge, refusing to retreat. He died when Samuel B. Roberts sank, her colors still flying.

Medal of Honor & Words from the Fight

For supreme gallantry, Lieutenant Commander Ernest E. Evans was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor. His citation speaks with unvarnished respect for a warrior who defied overwhelming odds:

“Against heavy odds, Commander Evans boldly attacked a superior enemy force to protect the vital escort carriers... His indomitable fighting spirit and heroic leadership contributed materially to the survival of the task unit.”¹

Shipmates remembered Evans not just for his actions but for his character. The chaplain called him a man who “walked with God through the valley of death.”

Commander Donald L. McClusky, who fought alongside him that day, later said:

“Evans’ ship was the keystone in the entire action; his spirit lifted all of us.”²

Legacy and Lessons from the Edge

Ernest E. Evans died when Samuel B. Roberts went down, but his legacy is a lighthouse in the fog of war. His story isn’t about a single act. It’s about a warrior who stood when the world wavered, carrying men heavier than scars—the burden of hope.

“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 sacrifice reminds all who hear his name that valor isn’t measured by size or firepower. It is measured in choice—facing annihilation with conviction and placing others above oneself.

Evans’ life and death are a sermon written in saltwater and blood, a testament to grit and grace. In an era that too often forgets the price of freedom, his story demands remembrance—not for glory, but for the cost paid in full.

The warrior’s path is harsh and relentless. But as Evans showed, it is also redemptive. In sacrifice, there is salvation. In scars, there is story. In the darkest hour, true courage is found.

Sources

1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor: Ernest E. Evans 2. Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume XII: Leyte