Dec 23 , 2025
Ernest E. Evans' Last Stand on USS Samuel B. Roberts
Ernest E. Evans stood defiant amid screams of steel and fire. His ship, USS Samuel B. Roberts—a slender destroyer escort—notched against a sea of enemy giants. Japanese battleships, cruisers, and destroyers crashed through the gray dawn of October 25, 1944. Evans was a David armed with grit, throwing stones that shattered impossibilities. The roar of guns blistered the air. His small ship screamed into the maelstrom.
He never flinched.
Blood in the Water: The Making of a Warrior
Ernest Edwin Evans was born in 1908 in Pawnee, Oklahoma. Raised in a working-class family, he carried the blue-collar grit straight into the Navy. Evans was more than a career officer; he was a man of sturdy principle and iron will. He believed in duty forged through sacrifice—not just for country, but for the men who fought by his side.
Faith was a quiet undercurrent in Evans' life; not flashy or preached, but steady. His sense of honor echoed the ancient wisdom:
“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles…” (Isaiah 40:31)
A code of protection extended beyond machine guns and tactics—he was a shepherd among wolves, refusing to surrender his men to fear or death.
The Battle That Defined Him: Samar’s Last Stand
The Leyte Gulf debacle had thrown the Allies into a killer trap. Evans captained the Samuel B. Roberts, a relatively light 1,250-ton destroyer escort, assigned to Task Unit 77.4.3—“Taffy 3.” They were screening escort carriers, small and vulnerable against the Japanese Center Force, approaching with five battleships, eight cruisers, and a dozen destroyers.
Evans faced near-certain annihilation.
His orders? Withdraw and protect the carriers.
His choice? Attack relentlessly.
With no salvo wasted, Evans pushed the Samuel B. Roberts straight into the enemy line—guns bellowing, torpedoes screaming. Evans drove his ship into the bulk of battleships and cruisers far larger and more powerful. He closed the gap, firing everything the Roberts held—a swarm of fury and courage.
The ship took hit after hit. Engines knocked out, steering crippled. Still, Evans ordered the crew on a desperate charge. Smoke blanketed the warship; shells tore into her hull.
He collided—twice—with enemy destroyers, torpedo racks blazing. His actions drew concentrated fire away from helpless carriers and saved scores of American lives.
Hours strangled by the fight, Evans took a bullet to the head. Though wounded, he directed damage control until Samuel B. Roberts sank, his last orders echoing through a dying voice.
A destroyer escort’s final act—a titan’s sacrifice.
Valor Etched in Steel and Ink
For his indomitable leadership and near-suicidal courage, Evans posthumously received the Medal of Honor. His citation bluntly stated:
“Acting commander of the Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413), Evans fought his ship against overwhelming odds to protect American forces. His fighting spirit and self-sacrifice were in keeping with the highest traditions of the Naval Service.”¹
Comrades remembered him as a “wild patriot” and “fighter until the last breath.” Admiral William Halsey remarked in later reflections that the stand of Evans and Taffy 3 became a “legend of naval valor.”
The bloody waters off Samar are inscribed now with Evans's name—a beacon etched amid fury and loss.
Legacy: Courage is Duty Worn Like Armor
Ernest E. Evans’s story shreds illusions about glory. Heroism is not the absence of fear. It is a choice to act despite it. His fight was a brutal, selfless calculus—not thrill or vanity. It was love for country and comrades, standing tall as the world burned.
“Greater love hath no man than this,” echoes John 15:13 — Evans embodied that.
To veterans, his sacrifice is familiar ground—scarred with the weight of hard choices in hellish crucibles. To civilians, Evans’s legacy demands reckoning: the free world does not float on luck, but on men who stand fast when the tides rise.
His voice, lost in the ocean depths, still commands: fight with honor, lead with heart, and pay the costs so others may live.
In the stillness between gunfire, Evans became legend—not because he survived, but because he refused to yield. A destroyer escort’s final charge etched in eternity:
Courage is the holding of line when the darkness closes in.
And some battles—like those bloodied waters of Samar—never end.
Sources
1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor Citation for Ernest E. Evans 2. Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Vol. 12: Leyte, June 1944 – January 1945 3. Hornfischer, James D., The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors
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