Alonzo Cushing's Last Stand at Gettysburg and His Sacrifice

Dec 27 , 2025

Alonzo Cushing's Last Stand at Gettysburg and His Sacrifice

The air tore like cannon fire. Smoke clung to everything—mud, blood, broken men. Amidst that hell, Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing gripped the limber chest of Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery. Wounded, bleeding, surrounded, he refused to yield. The guns kept roaring under his command—until the very end.

Born of Iron and Faith

Alonzo Cushing was more than an artillery officer; he was a son of purpose and conviction. Born in 1841 to a family grounded in service and deep Christian faith, his upbringing drew heavily on discipline molded by a higher calling. West Point sharpened his resolve, but it was that quiet flame of faith—carried in his prayers and letters—that steeled him for the chaos ahead.

From his journals and letters, scripture was no stranger: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13). That wasn’t just a verse, but a compass for a young man who believed honor was inseparable from sacrifice.

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

The fields around Cemetery Ridge melted into a furnace of death. Pickett’s Charge shattered the morning calm. Cushing’s Battery sat near the center—wooden wheels sunk deep in mud, guns firing relentless shrapnel into Confederate ranks.

He was shot three times that day.

Wounded in the abdomen and legs, the blood poured like river currents beneath the smoke—yet he kept the cannons firing. His artillery crippled the oncoming assault. Eyewitness accounts from fellow soldiers describe him shouting commands, encouraging his men, bandaging wounds between volleys.

At one point, when the enemy breached the battery’s position, Cushing reportedly stood amidst the carnage and directed a caisson’s chain to reposition a disabled gun. Even as a bullet tore through his shoulder, his orders did not falter.

When finally he collapsed, it was with finger raised, directing final fire.

He died on that ground, 21 years old.

Recognition: Medal of Honor Decades in Waiting

It took over a century to formally recognize the valor that day. In 2014, President Barack Obama awarded Alonzo Cushing the Medal of Honor—150 years after his sacrifice. The citation reads:

“For extraordinary heroism at the Battle of Gettysburg, while under heavy artillery fire and illegal small arms fire; despite severe wounds, he remained at his post, inspiring his battery to hold their ground and inflict significant damage on the attacking forces.”[^1]

Brigadier General Henry Hunt, Chief of Artillery for the Army of the Potomac, described Cushing as “a soldier of great courage and capacity.”[^2]

Cushing’s steadfastness earned posthumous elevation but his legacy was always etched in the memory and reverence of those who knew of his sacrifice.

Enduring Legacy: Courage, Sacrifice, Redemption

Cushing’s name whispers through time like an unyielding echo. His courage was not the roar of reckless bravado—it was grit forged in unwavering duty. His final stand was a testament to the warrior’s code: service above self, under the watchful eye of God.

There is redemptive power in his story—a life given that others might live, a battle scar that became a beacon.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” (Matthew 5:9)

Alonzo Cushing exemplifies that peace demanded price in blood, bones, and unshakable resolve. Veterans carry his legacy—the refusal to quit when shadows loom darkest.

His name is a call to remember: honor is not won by survival alone, but by sacrifice entrusted to something greater than self.

When the cannons silenced, and the smoke thinned, Alonzo’s story remained—etched in iron and sacrifice, a reminder that some battles are not just for land or victory, but for the soul of a nation.

[^1]: U.S. Army Center of Military History, Medal of Honor Recipients: Civil War [^2]: Sears, Stephen W., Gettysburg (2003)