Ernest E. Evans and USS Johnston’s Last Stand at Samar

Nov 22 , 2025

Ernest E. Evans and USS Johnston’s Last Stand at Samar

Ernest E. Evans stood at the prow of the USS Johnston, under a storm of fire that seemed bent on swallowing him whole. His destroyer—a small, battered shadow— was about to take on an entire Japanese task force. Against odds carved in steel, he fought like a man who had nothing left to lose but his honor.

This was no ordinary fight. This was the war forged in hellfire—raw, desperate, final.

Blood and Faith: The Forming of a Warrior

Born in Pawnee, Oklahoma, Evans carried the grit of the heartland stitched into his soul. Raised in a time when duty wasn’t talk—it was a chain around your neck you never threw off.

He enlisted with the Navy in 1926, rising through the ranks with a steady hand and a fierce will. A Catholic man, he often sought quiet strength in scripture, drawing from Psalms and Romans when in doubt.

“For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.” — 2 Timothy 4:6

Evans lived by a code: lead from the front, protect your men, and never retreat without a fight. He was quiet but unyielding—a warrior carrying more than just a ship’s wheel.

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

The Battle off Samar was a dark hour for the US Navy in the Pacific Theater. Evans commanded the USS Johnston (DD-557), a Fletcher-class destroyer, one of the smallest escorts screening a group of escort carriers known as Taffy 3.

They ran headlong into the Imperial Japanese Navy’s Center Force: battleships, cruisers, and destroyers, vastly superior firepower and armor.

No one expected Johnston to survive this encounter.

Evans did not hesitate. At 07:06, he gave the order to attack—full speed, guns blazing, torpedoes armed. He raced straight into hell to shield the carriers, drawing fire to himself and away from the fragile aircraft launchers.

“We’ll fight ’em as long as we can and go down fighting.” — a vow that would mark the hours to come.

Evans maneuvered with somber precision: torpedo runs so close the enemy was blinded by the spray, repeated gun duels where Johnston’s 5-inch guns exchanged hellfire with mighty cruisers.

He was hit again and again—Johnston’s bow shredded, the ship listing, engines faltering. Yet he kept pressing.

Evans confronted the Japanese flagship, the heavy cruiser Kumano, head-on. Two torpedoes found their mark, crippling the monster and buying precious time for the US carriers to escape.

Minutes before Johnston went down, mortally wounded, Evans was last seen on deck, rallying his crew to fight on.

His ship sank beneath the waves at around 09:15. Over 180 men were lost with her, including Evans.

Honors Earned in Blood

Posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, Evans’ citation reads:

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty… By skillful maneuvering and courageous fighting, he repeatedly launched torpedo attacks, expended all his ammunition, and rammed a Japanese heavy cruiser. His indomitable spirit and valor contributed materially to the salvation of the American escort carriers and their task group.”¹

Survivors of Taffy 3 would speak of Evans’ fearless leadership and the thunderous courage he inspired. Rear Admiral Clifton Sprague called it “the most gallant fight by any commander of a destroyer in the history of the United States Navy.”²

Legacy Carved in Steel and Sacrifice

Evans’ story is not just about ship-to-ship combat or tactical genius. It is about the soul of sacrifice—how one man’s courage can turn the tide when everything seems lost.

In the roar of battle, Evans found purpose beyond himself. He knew the cost but faced it with steady eyes.

His legacy lives in every vet who has stood, broken but unyielding, guarding what they hold dear. It whispers in the wind over the seas where his ship still sleeps, a grave and a monument both.

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

Ernest E. Evans reminds us that heroism is neither loud nor comfortable. It is bloodied, lonely, and relentless—but it endures.

For those who bear the weight of combat and those who watch from the shore, his story is the eternal call: stand fast, lead true, sacrifice all. And in that sacrifice, find redemption.

Sources

1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor Citation, Ernest E. Evans 2. Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Vol. 12: Leyte, June 1944–January 1945