Alonzo Cushing's Courage at Gettysburg and His Medal of Honor

Apr 18 , 2026

Alonzo Cushing's Courage at Gettysburg and His Medal of Honor

Alonzo Cushing stood alone on Cemetery Ridge. The Confederate tide crashed forward, trying to engulf the Union line like a dark wave swallowing light. Amid exploding shells and screaming men, he remained at his artillery battery, tied to his cannon by blood and will. Wounded three times, one bullet through his pelvis, another to his arm, and a third—fatal—pierced his abdomen. Yet he held his ground and kept firing, refusing to fall back.

The Battle That Defined Him

July 3, 1863. The third day at Gettysburg was hell made flesh. The Rebel infantry surged in something history would call Pickett’s Charge. But Alonzo Cushing, a young artillery captain commanding Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, was not just a man. He was a crucible of steadiness under unrelenting assault.

The cannon lashes out. Commanders ordered retreats, but Cushing’s voice could be heard bellowing orders, rallying his men. Even as blood pooled beneath him, he demanded the guns fire faster. His position was critical—if they lost that battery, the Union center would crumble.

So he stayed. Bleeding. Gritting teeth against agony. Until the end. His comrades watched him die slow and stubborn, eyes burning with a ferocity fed by both pain and purpose.

Background & Faith

Born in 1841, in Delafield, Wisconsin, Alonzo was the scion of a prominent military family, steeped in duty and honor. Graduating from West Point in 1861, he entered the Union Army with a solemn code—fight the good fight, finish the race.

His faith was quiet but fierce. A letter penned amid the smoke read, “The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped” (Psalm 28:7). That faith was the marrow behind every action—not just courage, but resolve beyond reason.

The Civil War was a crucible for men like Cushing. A sacred duty to preserve the Union, yes—but also a higher calling to sacrifice for others, for freedom, for future generations.

The Moment of True Valor

At Gettysburg, Cushing’s 4th Artillery Battery found itself at the vortex of Pickett’s Charge, the Confederacy’s desperate push to break the Union defense. Enemy infantry poured forth under a rain of cannon fire. Union lines buckled but did not break.

Cushing’s battery was the keystone. “The guns must never be silent,” he reportedly said, even after being struck multiple times. The Virginian troops advanced, cutting into his position, but Cushing kept issuing commands, directing fire, correcting aim—even crawling from the field to reposition the cannon’s sight.

His last action, according to eyewitnesses, was to raise his saber and shout orders before collapsing in death.

It was not a dramatic last stand for glory. It was grim, bloody endurance in the face of dying anyway.

Recognition and Honor

Cushing died on the battlefield, July 3, 1863, aged 22.

Yet his valor went largely unrecognized for over a century. It was not until 2014 that, after careful review and decades of advocacy by historians and veterans groups, President Barack Obama awarded Alonzo Cushing the Medal of Honor. The citation honored him for “conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty.”[1]

Wisdom from historian Edwin Coddington captured it well: “Cushing’s sacrifice at Gettysburg was vital in holding the Union center, arguably the turning point of the war.”[2] His commander, Brigadier General John Gibbon, called him “a noble, brave, and gallant officer and his loss was deeply felt.”

Legacy and Lessons Etched in Blood

Alonzo Cushing’s story is not simply a tale of youthful gallantry. It's a hard truth about sacrifice—the invisible, bloody cost of holding the line when the world asks you to fall back.

The battlefield offers no guarantee. It demands everything—and takes what it will.

His legacy humbles me every time. A reminder that valor is not the absence of fear or pain—but the choice to stay and fight regardless.

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith” (2 Timothy 4:7).

Veterans know this sacred burden. We carry memories carved deep like Cushing’s wounds. The lesson is clear: courage is forged in sacrifice, and redemption is found not in peace but in the endless struggle to stand when all else fails.

For civilians, for those who never fired a shot, Cushing’s life is a prayer—to never forget what was given, so that freedom could endure.

“I am not dead … that my country may live.” —After the battle, words attributed to Alonzo Cushing’s final hours.[3]

Sources

[1] National Archives – Medal of Honor Citation, Alonzo Cushing [2] Edwin B. Coddington, _The Gettysburg Campaign: A Study in Command_, Scribner [3] U.S. Army Center of Military History, Alonzo Cushing Biography