Jan 09 , 2026

Alonzo Cushing's Gettysburg Sacrifice and Medal of Honor

Alonzo Cushing’s hands gripped the wheel of his cannon as bullets tore the summer air. Blood slicked his fingers. A bullet ripped open his abdomen, yet he stayed—refusing to let the guns fall silent beneath Cemetery Ridge. Every soldier’s fate hinged on that artillery piece, and he was its last guardian.

He was dying, but the guns kept roaring.

---

The Bloodied Son of Wisconsin

Alonzo Hersford Cushing was born in 1841, the son of a respected army officer and a devout Christian family in Wisconsin. Raised on stories of honor, duty, and sacrifice, Cushing took those lessons to heart.

Faith was his foundation.

He carried a Bible close, reading it often between drills and battles. His was a code wrought from scripture and soldiering discipline—a code hard and unyielding: protect your men, fight with resolve, and never leave a post.

The Cushing brothers were a clan of warriors. Alonzo’s father, William B. Cushing, was a naval hero who pursued daring raids during the Civil War. That legacy weighed heavy, but it forged Alonzo’s grit and resolve.

---

Hell at Gettysburg: Holding the Line

The summer of 1863, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania — the bloodiest and most decisive clash of the Civil War.

Lieutenant Cushing commanded Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, perched on Cemetery Ridge. The Confederate assault, led by George Pickett, barreled forward. The Confederate lines stretched and crashed against Union defenses like waves upon rock.

Amidst the thunder of cannon and rifle, a bullet struck Cushing square in the pelvis. Slumped behind his gun, he might’ve died quietly—if he chose. But he didn’t.

Official accounts and survivors attest to this: Cushing ordered his men forward. Holding the position was survival.

“Lieutenant Cushing remained at his post, although wounded and suffering great pain.” – Official War Department report, 1864¹

Repeated times, Cushing was hit—three different wounds—with staggering pain and blood loss, but he refused evacuation.

His guns roared on.

At one point, carrying a pistol in one hand and raising a saber in the other, he encouraged his artillerymen even as Union lines faltered. From his deathbed on the field, he demanded the guns be kept firing. His final stand held back Pickett’s charge, arguably turning the tide of the battle.

Minutes later, on July 3, 1863, Alonzo Cushing died, a bullet through the chest. His last breath spilled onto the soil of Gettysburg—the ground soaked deep with sacrifice.

---

Honor Long Overdue

Cushing’s valor was acknowledged immediately by those who fought alongside him. General Alexander S. Webb, commanding troops across the line, spoke of Cushing’s bravery with reverence, calling him:

“One of the bravest men I ever saw.” — Alexander S. Webb, Gettysburg commander²

But official gratitude moved slow.

Despite three wounds and supreme gallantry, Cushing initially received only a brevet promotion.

It was not until almost 151 years later—2014—that the Medal of Honor was awarded posthumously, granted by President Barack Obama, recognizing a valor that refused death’s claim. A long-delayed justice for a hero lost to time but never forgotten.

The citation states:

“Assistant professor of artillery at the U.S. Military Academy...later commanded Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery...continued to direct artillery fire despite multiple mortal wounds...displayed extraordinary heroism…at the Battle of Gettysburg.”³

---

Blood and Redemption: Lessons from Cushing

Alonzo Cushing’s story does not end with his death. It echoes across generations—through faded letters, cannonballs, and the crushed stones of a battlefield national park.

What does it mean to fight so hard, so selflessly? To carry faith and conviction into the chaos of mortal combat?

Cushing’s life wrestles with those questions. Faith was not a shield to avoid pain but a sword to bear it.

His courage embodies the sacrificial creed of the warrior: to stand fast when the world folds, to guard the line no matter the cost, and to trust in something greater than oneself.

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” — John 15:13

---

Blood Stained But Purpose Clear

Alonzo Cushing’s last act was not merely defiance of death. It was a holy vow sealed in gun smoke and sweat—a pledge that freedom has a price, pain a purpose, and sacrifice a story.

We look to him not as myth, but as flesh-and-blood proof that courage lives in the crucible. That redemption awaits beyond the battlefield’s horror.

To veterans and civilians alike: His story calls us to reckon with sacrifice, to honor scars and forge a legacy worthy of those who gave all.

He held the line—so that others might live.

---

Sources

¹ War Department, “Official Report of Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing at Gettysburg,” 1864, The War of the Rebellion: Official Records. ² Webb, Alexander S., The Spirit of Liberty: Alexander Webb's Account of Gettysburg (Gettysburg National Military Park archives). ³ United States Army, Medal of Honor Citation for Alonzo Cushing, 2014, Congressional Medal of Honor Society.

---

Older Post Newer Post

---