Alonzo Cushing, Gettysburg Major, Posthumously Awarded Medal of Honor

Jun 28 , 2026

Alonzo Cushing, Gettysburg Major, Posthumously Awarded Medal of Honor

The roar of cannon fire cleaves the July air. Smoke chokes the line. Men fall around him like wheat in the harvest. But Major Alonzo Cushing remains. Blood seeps from shattered legs, yet his finger still finds the lanyard to fire the gun. “Hold this ground. No surrender.” Death courts him, but he answers only with bullet and shell.

The Burden of Blood and Honor

Born in 1841, Wisconsin soil beneath his boots, Alonzo Cushing carried dignity in his bones. A West Point graduate, class of 1861, molded by discipline, grit, and faith. Raised in a family steeped in honor—the Cushing brothers all soldiers, bound by a lethal camaraderie and unyielding code.

His faith was steady as the muskets he commanded. “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13) wasn’t just a verse—it was his shield and sword. Where others broke under pressure, Cushing bore his cross quietly, resolute.

The Battle That Defined Him: Gettysburg, July 3, 1863

The third day of Gettysburg—Pickett’s Charge—was a crucible that would sear Alonzo’s name into history. As Confederate lines surged forward, the Union artillery on Cemetery Ridge was a lynchpin in the defense.

Major Cushing commanded Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery. Amidst the carnage, his guns were the hammer striking impossibly hard, but the price was devastating. A Confederate bullet tore through his pelvis and both legs. Doctors would later say he was mortally wounded multiple times, yet still he refused to yield his position.

Eyewitness accounts recount Cushing crawling forward, dragging himself closer to his guns to keep firing. “I can stand it,” he reportedly said, gritting through agony, “I will remain at my post as long as possible.” His relentless artillery fire shattered Confederate assaults, blunting the momentum that could have broken the Union line.

He died there, in front of his men and the enemy alike, a crimson testament to steadfast sacrifice.

Valor Recognized—A Long-Delayed Honor

His Medal of Honor came posthumously—more than a hundred years later, in 2014. President Barack Obama presented it to his descendants, finally closing the chapter long overdue for an officer who gave everything at Gettysburg.

The citation reads bluntly: “For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty.” It acknowledges the grueling perseverance despite mortal wounds, holding artillery fire until the last breath.

General Alexander Webb, witnessing Cushing's actions, said in the heat of the moment, “It was as if the artillery itself refused to yield.” That spirit coursed through the Union ranks, a bulwark in the blood-soaked fields of Pennsylvania.

Eternal Lessons from a Fallen Major

Alonzo Cushing’s story is not one of glory found in medals alone. It’s a story of raw sacrifice where flesh and spirit bleed, where leadership is measured in the inches held against death.

To fight on despite unbearable pain is the truest measure of valor. His fight was a quiet sermon on duty and faith—how even in the worst of circumstances, one man can hold the line for millions who follow.

In a world that too often forgets the cost behind freedom’s facade, his life is a stark, red reminder. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

We remember Major Alonzo Cushing not simply as a hero of Gettysburg, but as a warrior who wrestled destiny with bleeding hands and a steadfast heart. His fight was hell—the kind of hell that sculpts legends. And in his silence, beneath the cannon smoke and shattered limbs, we still hear the call: