Alonzo Cushing's Gettysburg Stand and Posthumous Medal of Honor

Nov 23 , 2025

Alonzo Cushing's Gettysburg Stand and Posthumous Medal of Honor

Alonzo Cushing’s fingers clenched the cold metal of his artillery piece as musket balls and cannon fire ripped through the summer air. Blood pooled at his feet. Every breath was a battle. Yet the guns kept roaring. Even as the world collapsed around him, he held his ground. On July 3, 1863, at the high ground of Cemetery Ridge, a young Union officer bore the weight of a nation’s fate—and his own dying body—on a broken hill.

From Milwaukee to the Union Line: A Soldier’s Faith and Code

Born in 1841 in Wisconsin, Alonzo Cushing was raised in a family that fused intellect, duty, and faith. West Point molded him, but it was something deeper—a personal reckoning with sacrifice and service—that drove him. A man forged by discipline, but softened by belief. His letters reflect it: a soldier aware his role went beyond the battlefield. He was there to carry the torch of justice and union, bearing scars that were more than physical.

Scripture steeled him—Psalm 23 was a companion on that field:

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me.”

That faith welded him to his guns and men. He wasn’t just an officer. He was a guardian.

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

The third day at Gettysburg was hell unleashed. The Confederate Army, under General Robert E. Lee, unleashed Pickett’s Charge—12,500 men, sweeping across open ground under blistering Union fire. At the heart of Cemetery Ridge’s Union defenses was Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing, commanding Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery.

When the Confederate forces exploded in front of his guns, far from breaking, Cushing did the opposite: he rallied his men to pour hellfire back. By all accounts, the fighting was savage, the smoke thick, the pain overwhelming. Cushing was hit not once but at least three times—chest, abdomen, arms—sustaining mortal wounds. Yet, his pistols in hand, he refused to abandon the position.

Witnesses from his battery later reported his final orders, shouted above the chaos: “Keep your guns firing. Don’t give up.” Even as blood poured from his wounds, even as the enemy pushed forward, he refused to yield. The guns were silenced only when he collapsed into death.

His stand was a linchpin in holding Cemetery Ridge—the end of the Union line—preventing Lee from breaking through. Historian Stephen Sears wrote that Cushing's "sacrifice was a critical piece of the Union victory."

Honors in Time: Medal of Honor, a Century and a Half Late

Alonzo Cushing’s valor was recognized long after the smoke cleared. In 1893, he was brevetted captain and major for gallantry. But it wasn’t until 2014—151 years after Gettysburg—that he was awarded the Medal of Honor, posthumously, by President Barack Obama. The citation boiled down to this:

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty... although mortally wounded, he continued to direct his cannoneers until he fell under a barrage of enemy fire.”

Senator Tammy Baldwin of Wisconsin, his home state, championed the award, calling Cushing “the embodiment of valor and sacrifice—a true American hero who held the line when everything was at stake.”

Fellow soldiers’ accounts, preserved in the Official Records, called him “indomitable” and “a soldier who gave all for the Union’s cause.” His death marked not just loss but a moment of obstinate hope.

Legacy Etched in Iron and Blood

Cushing’s story is more than a Civil War tale. It’s the hard shout of duty and sacrifice echoing through the ages.

What drives a man to stand firm when every fiber screams retreat?

It’s faith, yes. It’s duty, surely. But it’s the unwillingness to let others fall behind— the purest form of brotherhood.

His ordeal reminds us: scars carved in the flesh tell stories of battles waged in the spirit. Alonzo Cushing’s charge was not just against Confederate guns. It was a fight against the fading light of hope, against despair, and against surrender.

In a world too often afraid to carry burdens, Cushing stands as a stark sentinel to the cost of bravery. His life and death call veterans and civilians alike to reckon with sacrifice’s meaning—not just in war, but in living.

Psalm 34:18 closes this chapter of blood and faith:

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

Alonzo Cushing’s guns still roar in the halls of history. They speak to a reckoning, to grit beyond the grave, and a warrior’s final cry: Hold the line. Never give up. His legacy is bitter, heavy, sacred. And it is ours to carry.

Sources

1. U.S. Army Center of Military History, Medal of Honor Recipients — Civil War 2. Stephen Sears, Gettysburg (2003, Houghton Mifflin) 3. Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, Series 1, Volume 27, Part 2 4. Barack Obama, Medal of Honor Ceremony remarks, 2014 5. Wisconsin Historical Society, Alonzo H. Cushing Papers