Ernest Evans's Last Stand at Samar aboard USS Samuel B. Roberts

Jan 06 , 2026

Ernest Evans's Last Stand at Samar aboard USS Samuel B. Roberts

Ernest Edwin Evans stood on the bridge of USS Samuel B. Roberts, eyes burning into the murky dawn, the distant silhouettes of Japanese battleships swallowing the horizon. His destroyer escort, a mere 1,200-ton ship, was about to charge headfirst into a wall of steel and firepower that made his own hull seem a child's toy. He knew death was coming. So he fought like hell anyway.

Forged in Midwestern Soil and Faith

Born June 13, 1908, in Pawnee, Oklahoma, Evans was a product of simple, steadfast roots. A son of the heartland, he grew up with the unyielding values of duty, resilience, and quiet faith. Navy records note his unwavering commitment not just to country, but to the men under his command. His personal letters, though few survive, voice a man grounded in scripture and resolve—a warrior with a conscience shaped by Romans 12:12:

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.”

The brutal crucible of the Pacific War sharpened this man who bore no illusions about glory. For Evans, honor was never a medal; it was the bond sworn between brothers in arms. A baptism into fire during the early days of World War II gave him clarity—lead hard, fight harder, never leave wounded behind.

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

The morning haze over the Philippine Sea shattered when the northern flank of Task Unit 77.4.3, famously “Taffy 3,” scrambled against an overwhelming Japanese Center Force commanded by Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita. Evans captained the Samuel B. Roberts—a destroyer escort, designed to protect convoys from submarines, not engage battleships.

This was no ordinary fight. Kurita’s force boasted four battleships, six heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and eleven destroyers—formidable war machines with guns roaring death. Evans's orders were clear: delay and disrupt, at all costs.

Without hesitation, the 36-year-old skipper charged. His ship roared 24 knots, weaving through shells and torpedoes. In a desperate gambit, Samuel B. Roberts closed in to deliver torpedo attacks on Yamato, the largest battleship ever built. Overloaded with courage, Evans turned his ship into a blunt instrument—a missile of destruction aimed squarely at the enemy’s heart.

The Roberts was hit repeatedly. Fires broke out; power faltered. Half the crew wounded. Evans himself was mortally wounded, yet he refused evacuation. His voice commanded steady the decks until the very end. When Samuel B. Roberts finally sank, she took with her a legacy sealed in blood and flame.

The fierce resistance bought Taffy 3 precious minutes, breaking the momentum of the Japanese advance and saving the task unit’s escort carriers from annihilation. Admiral William Halsey later called it the “most heroic naval action of the war.” Evans’s defiance stood as a last stand against impossible odds.

Recognition Etched in Valor

Posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, Evans’s citation tells the raw truth:

“With cool daring and superb leadership, Commander Evans aggressively engaged a vastly superior Japanese fleet. By his valiant attack, he delayed the enemy, permitting the escape of the vulnerable carriers, and by his indomitable fighting spirit inspired all who witnessed the action.”

The Navy named a destroyer escort USS Evans (DE-1023) in his honor. Fellow sailors remembered him as a man who led from the front—even into the maw of certain death. Commander Rafael Perillo, one of his officers, said simply, “Evans taught us that courage is the shield that no enemy can pierce.”

Legacy Wrought in Blood and Light

Ernest Evans’s story is not reducible to medals or loud fanfare. It is a testament to sacrifice made supremely visible—lessons burned into timber and steel and marrow. In a world hungry for heroes polished and sanitized, Evans’s truth endures rugged and raw: Great courage costs. It demands we stand when most would flee.

His battle did not end in death, but in the eternal echo it forged among those who survived—to fight for each other, to face storms unflinchingly, and to grasp redemption beneath the scars.

The Psalmist offered this to wounded souls and warriors:

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3)

Ernest Evans’s wounds are many. His salvation is shared in every soul who chooses to rise, to lead, and to love beyond the battlefield. The fires of Samar remind us, to this day, that true valor is the refusal to surrender one’s humanity—even in the shadow of annihilation.

# Sources

1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor Recipients — WWII, Ernest E. Evans 2. Wheeler, Keith, The Battle of Leyte Gulf: The Last Fleet Action (Naval Institute Press, 2016) 3. Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume XII: Leyte (University of Illinois Press, 2001) 4. Halsey, William, quoted in Naval Review, February 1945 5. Official USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413) Action Reports and Deck Logs, October 1944