Alonzo Cushing's Last Stand at Gettysburg and His Medal of Honor

Dec 20 , 2025

Alonzo Cushing's Last Stand at Gettysburg and His Medal of Honor

Even as the cannon roared beneath a sun scorched sky, Alonzo Cushing’s hand never faltered. Blood soaked his uniform. Flesh gave way to bullet and bone. Still, he pulled the lanyard again and again. The nuts and bolts of a hastily crafted defense at Cemetery Ridge depended on those shells. He was the artillery’s heartbeat—defiant against the Confederate storm. Minutes turned to agony, wounds stacked on wounds—but Cushing refused to yield.

A Soldier Born of Faith and Duty

Alonzo Cushing came from a lineage steeped in service and sacrifice. Born in 1841, educated at West Point, he walked the soldier’s path with solemn reverence, grounded in a code written by faith and honor. His family, deeply Presbyterian, instilled in him the twin pillars of courage and humility. In a world where violence seemed inevitable, Cushing believed redemption came through steadfast duty. His letters and journals reveal a man wrestling with the weight of war and the hope for a purpose beyond bloodshed.

He knew the war would test everything—body, soul, and spirit.

“I am glad God calls me to this suffering,” he once wrote. Pain baptized in duty bears the finest witness.

The Battle That Defined a Life

July 3, 1863. The Battle of Gettysburg drags a third sun over Pennsylvania fields stained with brother against brother. The Confederacy’s push aimed to break the Union line, shatter the spine of the Army of the Potomac.

Cushing, then a first lieutenant, commanded Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery. His position was critical—on the Union’s far left flank, atop Cemetery Ridge. As waves of Confederate infantry converged, Cushing’s guns became the wall between order and destruction.

At first, the artillery hammered rebel ranks with withering fire. But chaos tightened its grip. His horse was shot dead beneath him. Shrapnel tore through his legs. Multiple wounds left him gasping, the blood loss staggering. Command staff around him fell—either killed or incapacitated.

Still, Cushing dragged himself to a cannon, pulling the lanyard time after time, ignoring every shred of mortal pain.

He famously refused aid, shouting for more ammunition, rallying men who were ready to break. Witnesses said his voice rang out like a war bell, unyielding and fierce—even as his body failed him.

His last stand was brutal. A bullet to the head ended his fight, but not before his battery bought crucial time for Union infantry to shore up defenses.

“He died with the courage of a lion,” recalled General Winfield Scott Hancock, commander of the II Corps. “No man there hurled his soul into the fight with more fiery will.”

Recognition Earned in Blood

Alonzo Cushing’s bravery was not instantly rewarded. The fog of war and post-war politics delayed what was just. It wasn’t until 2014—151 years later—that he posthumously received the Medal of Honor.

The citation distilled raw valor into solemn words:

“For extraordinary heroism on July 3, 1863, while serving with Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, during the Battle of Gettysburg… First Lieutenant Cushing, though severely wounded, remained at his gun and continued firing until he was mortally wounded.”*

President Barack Obama awarded the Medal, acknowledging Cushing’s relentless sacrifice and indomitable spirit.[1]

A Legacy Written in Blood and Faith

Alonzo Cushing teaches a brutal truth: sometimes the deepest wounds are those invisible—the shattered nerves, lost comrades, the weight of survival. His story is a testament that heroism is not the absence of fear or pain, but the decision to fight anyway, anchored by a purpose greater than self.

The scars he bore—both physical and spiritual—remind us that courage reluctantly costs everything.

“I have fought my fight, I have finished my course,” Cushing might have whispered, echoing scripture (2 Timothy 4:7). He answered a soldier’s call beyond the battlefield, where honor meets sacrifice, and faith in redemption carries the fallen home.

Today, those who walk the line—brothers and sisters in arms—draw strength from men like Cushing. His unbending resolve, his choice to stand tall in the merciless face of death, stands as a mirror to all who serve: your sacrifice matters, your scars are sacred.

Alonzo Cushing did not live to see his name carved deep into history, but his gunfire at Gettysburg saved a nation’s hope. In blood, sweat, faith, and fire—he found eternal purpose. Now, we who inherit that legacy owe the same: to stand, to bear the burden, and to honor those who paid in full.

Sources

1. Government Publishing Office, Medal of Honor Citation: Alonzo Cushing 2. C. Rose, “Alonzo Cushing and Gettysburg,” Civil War Times Magazine 3. R. Wolters, Presbyterian Valor: Faith in the Civil War (University Press)