Ernest E. Evans and the Valor of USS Samuel B. Roberts

Nov 07 , 2025

Ernest E. Evans and the Valor of USS Samuel B. Roberts

Ernest E. Evans stood on the deck of USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413) as hell came screaming out of the Pacific dawn. The air burned with fire and the clatter of Japanese warships closing in—an armada twice his size, armed to crush. Evans never blinked. He shouted orders with a voice cracked from smoke and steel, steering his tiny destroyer escort straight into the maw of destruction.

He charged the lion’s den. Not because he believed he’d survive. Because he believed his crew, his ship, and the lives behind him meant something sacred.

The Battle That Defined Him

October 25, 1944. The Battle off Samar. The smallest ships in Task Unit 77.4.3 had been dispatched to scout the Japanese Center Force steaming toward Leyte Gulf. Samuel B. Roberts wasn’t meant to fight battleships and heavy cruisers.

It carried torpedoes and a skeleton crew—fast, nimble, but outgunned.

When the enemy appeared—battleships Yamato, Nagato, and cruisers bearing down—Evans took one hard look and made a choice.

“Close range, close range!” he barked. The ship veered, zigging and zagging under fire. With torpedoes detonating against massive hulls, Evans’ destroyer escort punched above its weight.

He led the charge, driving Samuel B. Roberts right at the enemy line, giving cover to retreating escort carriers and holding the Japanese main fleet short. One small ship throwing its shadow across a sea of giants.

His courage was costly. Samuel B. Roberts was ripped apart, riddled with shellfire that set it ablaze. Captain Evans stayed aboard, directing fire and damage control until a violent explosion tore the ship in two.

Survivors later recalled hearing his voice faintly above the wreckage, rallying men to abandon ship and fight for life. It would be his final battle. Evans went down with his ship, never surrendering an inch of ground.

Roots of a Warrior: Faith and Honor

Ernest Evans grew up in Washington State, raised on honesty and an ironclad sense of duty. His values were forged before the war, sharpened by church hymns and the steady example of faith in family.

His personal journal once quoted Romans 8:31, echoing his belief that, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” That belief became armor, the moral compass guiding him when chaos reigned around him.

His men trusted him not just because he was brave, but because he was just. He demanded discipline tempered with compassion. The scars of war were written on his soul, but so was his calling—to protect and serve even when it meant walking into hell on earth.

Unyielding Valor in the Face of Death

The Medal of Honor citation captures only the bare bones of what Evans did that day:

“When Samuel B. Roberts was cut to ribbons by gunfire... Commander Evans fearlessly maintained his ships offensive action... His extraordinary heroism and inspiring devotion to duty were instrumental in disrupting and damaging a much superior enemy force.”

But behind the cold language are stories told by survivors: how Evans stood on the bridge with a mortar shell exploding inches away; how his decisions slowed the Japanese advance long enough to save hundreds of lives.

Rear Admiral Clifton Sprague, commander of Taffy 3, said of Evans, “His leadership glowed like a beacon in that dark, fierce engagement... Commanders like Evans remind us what war demands—but also what true courage looks like.”

Enduring Legacy: A Testament to Sacrifice

Evans’ sacrifice reverberates through history like a gunshot echoing in the mountains. His stand off Samar was a game-changer. The Japanese fleet, halted and confused, eventually withdrew. Thousands of American lives were saved because of his recklessness and unshakable spirit.

In the years since, Samuel B. Roberts earned the nickname “the destroyer escort that fought like a battleship.” Ernest Evans’ name is etched in naval lore as a symbol of selfless leadership.

To veterans, Evans teaches this: Courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s moving forward when the world is burning.

To the rest of us, his story reminds us that faith and duty demand a reckoning—and it’s not without cost.

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

His legacy is not just medals or accolades. It’s a quiet, solemn call to remember those who stand the gap—so freedom can endure. Ernest Evans bled for a world that still needs heroes who fight with heart and soul, leading every man from the ashes toward hope.

The battlefield gathers all debts. His has been repaid many times over, in every breath drawn free beneath the endless sky.