Nov 11 , 2025

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

Smoke crawled across the dawn sky. Hull shredded, guns blazing, USS Johnston was a small ship with a giant’s heart. Commander Ernest E. Evans stood on the bridge, eyes steel-set, facing impossible odds. Around him, a swirling storm of Japanese battleships and cruisers closed in like vultures. No retreat. No surrender. Only fury and blood.

This was the Battle off Samar—October 25, 1944.

The Making of a Warrior

Ernest Evans was never born to stay comfortable. Raised in Wyoming, he carried the grit of the West in his bones. Graduated Annapolis ’28, hardened by years at sea and a creeping storm brewing in the Pacific.

Faith was his silent armor. A man who prayed not for victory, but for the strength to meet the day’s hell. “Be strong and courageous,” he must have muttered, clinging to Joshua 1:9 in those moments before battle.

Honor wasn’t mere talk. It was his compass. A commander who led not from safety, but on the razor’s edge with his crew. The cruiser USS Indianapolis would be his start; the destroyer escort roles sharpened him into a fighter who refused to back down.

The Battle That Defined Him

Samar, part of the Leyte Gulf, was where Johnstons met a fleet that dwarfed them tenfold. Five ships. Three destroyers. And a gaggle of escort carriers against a Japanese Center Force led by Vice Admiral Kurita. Battleships Yamato, Nagato, cruisers, destroyers—the entire armada surged forward like death incarnate.

Evans’ orders were clear: protect the escort carriers, to the last man if need be. His response was brutal clarity.

He charged.

With guns blazing and engines pushing past limits, Johnston tore into the enemy like a bull in a china shop. At times, Evans was so close to the Yamato he could almost see the faces of the sailors. He ordered ramming maneuvers and close-range torpedo attacks that hammered cruisers and battleships.

Losses mounted. Johnston’s hull was holed repeatedly. Ammunition cooked off. Fires raged. Men died. But Evans refused to yield. His voice was a beacon in the chaos, rallying wounded sailors, issuing fire commands, keeping the crippled ship alive far beyond what any sane man would consider possible.

At one harrowing moment, his ship took a hit that would expose him on deck. Ignoring orders to stay below, Evans was found wounded but still commanding, refusing to relinquish control as his crew fought through exhaustion and despair.

Johnston finally sank, taking Evans with her on that hellish morning, but not before his actions bought precious time. His desperate gamble blunted the fearsome Japanese advance. His sacrifice saved countless lives and carriers.

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Recognition Wrought in Fire

His Medal of Honor citation reads like a dirge forged in fire:

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty... by attacking a vastly superior enemy force... The courage, determination, and superb leadership of Commander Evans were instrumental in saving the escort carriers.” [1]

Survivors spoke of a man who “battled where angels feared to tread,” a leader who knew defeat meant death for all under his charge. Admiral Clifton Sprague dubbed the action the “Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors”—Evans’ fight became the symbol of gritty naval courage.

Enduring Legacy

Ernest E. Evans’ story is not one of glory preened on parade grounds. It’s a tale whispered in scars and burnt steel. Of a warrior choosing to face annihilation rather than run. Of a leader forging hope amidst hellfire and hopeless odds.

His courage blasts silence across time. It commands every veteran to remember the cost of peace. It demands civilians grasp the grit fuelling freedom.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” —2 Timothy 4:7

Evans finished his race surrounded by fire and sacrifice, his faith unshaken. His fight teaches us this: valor isn’t about winning every battle—it’s about standing when others fall, and trusting a cause greater than self.

In every scar left by war, in every memory etched deep, there pulses the heartbeat of Ernest E. Evans. He dared the impossible. He paid the ultimate price. And his soul still stands sentinel over those who answer freedom’s call.

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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 [3] Hornfischer, James D., The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors

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