Alonzo Cushing's Gettysburg stand and the road to Medal of Honor

Jul 05 , 2026

Alonzo Cushing's Gettysburg stand and the road to Medal of Honor

The cannon roared just feet from his bloodied hands. Alonzo Cushing, barely twenty years old, refused to yield. Wounds tore flesh and bone as bullets and shells shredded the ground around Battery A. Yet, amid chaos and rain of iron, he kept his guns firing—a desperate stand within the maelstrom of Gettysburg. His last orders etched in smoke and blood: hold the line, no matter the cost.

Born to Duty and Faith

Alonzo Hersford Cushing grew up steeped in duty and divine purpose. Born into a family where service and faith intertwined, his father a prominent politician and his mother a devout Christian, Alonzo was raised in the crucible of honor and discipline.

West Point shaped the man he was—stern, methodical, unyielding. More than military training, it was his quiet faith that grounded him. Scripture wasn’t just read; it was lived.

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” — Philippians 4:13

This verse carried through his heart into the storm of war, a beacon when hope flickered amid death.

Gettysburg: Hell Unleashed

July 3, 1863. The Battle of Gettysburg entered its most desperate hours. On Cemetery Ridge, Battery A under Cushing’s command faced the fiercest Confederate assault—the infamous Pickett’s Charge. Confederate troops surged forward, artillery and infantry blending in a relentless tide.

Cushing’s battery was a lynchpin. When his men fled or fell, he stood. Twice shot through the leg and again through the abdomen, he refused to leave his guns.

“Lieutenant Cushing summoned the men about him, directed the fire of the battery with great coolness and accuracy, and inspired them to continue the fight to the last.” — U.S. War Department Reports

With each wound, his resolve hardened. His crew regrouped under fire. His voice, ragged and bleeding, ordered guns to fire canister and shell into the Confederate ranks, unraveling their line.

Witnesses said his last act was charging a pistol at the enemy before finally collapsing. He died on the field, clutching the tools of his duty.

Recognition Forged in Blood

For decades, Alonzo Cushing’s heroism lingered in history’s shadow. Medal of Honor standards tightened; his sacrifice risked obscurity.

But truth endured.

In 2014, after careful review, President Barack Obama awarded Cushing the Medal of Honor posthumously, 151 years later—the only Civil War officer so honored after the fact.

“No one embodied the courage and spirit of a true warrior more than Alonzo Cushing,” President Obama declared.

His citation praised a “gallant determination to hold an important position ... at great personal risk, and at the cost of his life.”

Commanders of the time recognized him too. Brigadier General John Gibbon said Cushing’s battery was “an anchor of the Union line.” His steadfastness held a critical point, buying time for reinforcements.

Enduring Legacy: Grit, Sacrifice, Redemption

Alonzo Cushing’s story is the raw essence of combat courage. Not flashy or loud, but stubbornly righteous. A young man who chose duty over life itself.

His blood fertilized the soil where freedom could grow. His steadfast hands held the line so others could hold dreams of peace beyond the carnage.

For veterans, his sacrifice reminds us: courage is more than physical bravery. It’s faith aligned with action, standing firm when everything inside screams retreat.

For those who watch from outside the smoke, remember this: heroes are not perfect. They bleed, they doubt, but they hold fast because something greater compels them.