Ernest E. Evans' Final Charge Aboard Samuel B. Roberts at Samar

Dec 03 , 2025

Ernest E. Evans' Final Charge Aboard Samuel B. Roberts at Samar

Ernest E. Evans stood alone on the bridge of USS Samuel B. Roberts as enemy shells screamed past. The world burned around him—ships aflame, sailors bleeding, doom closing in. Against impossible odds, he gripped the wheel, eyes sharp, heart steel. He chose to fight, not flee. Every order was a prayer for survival. That day, October 25, 1944, Evans became a legend forged in fire and blood.

A Son of the Heartland and the Warrior’s Code

Born July 13, 1908, in Pawnee, Oklahoma, Ernest Evans was a man marked by the plains—steady, unapologetically straightforward. Raised in a devout family, his faith was as innate as his grit. Discipline and honor were carved into his soul early on. He joined the Navy and served steadily, a career officer who believed in duty without question.

His faith was quiet but unshakable, a compass during chaos. “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)

Evans molded himself not for glory, but to serve something higher—a brotherhood, a mission, a cause that transcended self.

The Battle That Defined Him—Samar, 1944

The USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413) was a John C. Butler-class destroyer escort. Not a warship built for slugging matches. Yet, on the morning of October 25, 1944, off Samar in the Philippines, it became a slingshot in the jaws of a hydra.

Japanese forces bore down with battleships, heavy cruisers, destroying everything in their path. The Roberts was just one of six small ships in “Taffy 3,” a task unit caught in Hell’s teeth.

Evans knew his ship was outgunned, outranged, outmanned. Yet he didn’t hesitate. He ordered the Roberts to charge—right toward the enemy’s biggest guns.

The Roberts fired everything. Guns blistered, torpedoes screamed under the water. The ship weaved, drew fire, absorbing blows that would have sunk lesser vessels. Evans, exposed on the bridge, was hit repeatedly but stayed upright.

By the end, the Samuel B. Roberts was nearly wrecked—dead in the water, burning, listing—but she had slowed the Japanese advance long enough for American carriers and reinforcements to survive. The heroism of Evans and his crew blunted a superior force.

Evans himself was mortally wounded. He died believing his sacrifice was part of a larger story—the survival of the fleet, the fight for the Philippines, the hope of victory.

Recognition Etched in Valor

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

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty... in the Battle off Samar. Commander Evans ordered... to close the much more powerful Japanese force, to fight to the last round and use every means to inflict damage.” (Medal of Honor Citation, 1945)[1]

Fellow sailors spoke of Evans as a man who “rallied the hopeless,” a leader who stood amid hell and made every shot count. Captain Harold C. “Easy” Mayo of the cruiser San Jacinto noted, “Evans' spirit inspired us all—the way he willed his ship to live against all odds.” The delayed victory at Samar hinged on that raw, relentless will.

Legacy of Fierce Honor and Relentless Faith

Evans’ story is not just about a battle. It’s about sacrifice born from purpose. Against superior force, he invoked courage that became salvation. His scars are a testament to the cost of freedom.

Modern warriors find in Evans a blueprint—not of reckless bravado, but deliberate defiance. Faith held him centered. Purpose drove every decision. Sacrifice sealed the door others feared to close.

As 2 Timothy 4:7 reminds us:

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.”

Ernest E. Evans finished his race on the decks of a sinking ship. He fought hard, never wavering, embodying the unyielding spirit of the veteran who takes the front line—not for medals or glory—but because it was right.

The Samuel B. Roberts rest now at the bottom of the Philippine Sea, a silent crypt for a captain whose life was the fiercest prayer of all: That others might live. His legacy demands reverence—not just for the man, but for what he means to those who still fight beneath unforgiving skies.

To honor Evans is to remember the cost of courage, the price of peace.

Sources

[1] U.S. Navy, Medal of Honor Citation – Ernest E. Evans, Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships; Naval History and Heritage Command. [2] Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume XII, Leyte; [3] Hornfischer, James D., The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors, Bantam.