Alonzo Cushing's Artillery Stand at Gettysburg and Legacy

Jan 08 , 2026

Alonzo Cushing's Artillery Stand at Gettysburg and Legacy

Blood-soaked powder filled his lungs. Bones shattered, flesh torn, yet the cannon roared again. Alonzo Cushing, Lieutenant at battery command, refused to yield. His artillery crew fell away beneath a merciless hail of Confederate fire, but he stayed. Alone. Mortally wounded. Still firing into the churning fray that was Gettysburg’s hell.

The Roots of a Warrior’s Spirit

Born in Wisconsin, 1841, Alonzo was reared in a family that carved honor from struggle. West Point polished the rough edges, but faith and duty forged the steel inside him. A man devoted to his country and God, he carried the Bible with a soldier’s reverence. “Be strong and courageous,” wasn’t just a verse—it was a creed etched in his marrow.

The Cushing family produced warriors. Alonzo’s brothers served side by side in grim campaigns. The Civil War wasn’t abstract—it was kin bleeding in the dirt. From these roots grew a code: Stand firm. No retreat. Protect your men, your flag, and your soul.

The Battle That Defined Him

July 3, 1863. The Union line buckled beneath Pickett’s Charge on Cemetery Ridge. Cushing’s battery—Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery—took the storm head-on. Heavy artillery fire battered their position. His men were slaughtered or pushed back, but Cushing’s will met steel and fire.

He was shot multiple times—once through the leg, twice in the abdomen. Each wound should have stopped him cold. But he dragged himself forward, refusing aid. With his remaining hand, he kept firing the cannon, directing the artillery that bluntly broke the Confederate assault.

Witnesses later recalled his cry above the chaos: “Hold the guns! Keep firing!” His voice, scratched and hoarse, outmatched death itself.

When the battle ended, Cushing lay on the ground—bleeding, broken, yet unbroken. He died hours later, panting the final breath on the field he refused to abandon.

Recognition Forged in Blood

His medal for valor took over 150 years to arrive. In 2014, President Obama posthumously awarded Cushing the Medal of Honor—the nation’s highest—for his gallantry at Gettysburg.

The citation reads:

“Lieutenant Cushing displayed extraordinary heroism in action against Confederate forces during Pickett’s Charge, holding a vital artillery position despite multiple mortal wounds.”

Generals and comrades praised him. Brigadier General Strong Vincent called him “the bravest man I ever knew.” His legacy became a solemn hymn amongst the artillery ranks—a testament to duty’s cost.

The Enduring Legacy

Alonzo Cushing’s story is more than frozen glory. It’s a raw lesson about sacrifice and purpose in the face of annihilation. His decision to stay at the guns, knowing death was inevitable, speaks to the soul of combat—that a moment’s courage can alter history’s course.

Psalm 34:18 anchors the fallen warrior’s redemption:

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

His wounds were scars on the nation’s soul, his bravery a torch carried by all who stand guard over freedom’s fragile line.

In the smoke and gore of Gettysburg, Cushing showed us that valor isn’t simply fighting for victory. It is fighting for the men next to you, enduring despite every broken bone, every moan of pain, until your strength fails. His legacy is a roar in the silence—a clarion call that courage and faith grip the battlefield longer than fear or death ever could.