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

Aug 20 , 2026

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

Cannon smoke thick as death’s own breath. Explosions rattling every bone. Through it all, Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing ignored agony ripping through his body. His gun crew shattered, blood pooling beneath him, still holding that last artillery position on Cemetery Ridge. They would not take that ground—not today. Not while he drew breath.

The Battle That Defined Him

July 3, 1863. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The turning point of the Civil War in a grueling three-day clash. When Union artillery faltered under relentless Confederate assault, Lieutenant Cushing, barely 22, took command of Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery. His orders were clear: hold the line.

Amid the ferocious shelling and infantry charges, Cushing’s guns roared. Even as wounds stiffened his limbs, he refused to yield. Reportedly shot five times—from a musket ball through the leg to an artillery shell fragment tearing into his abdomen—he staggered, directing fire with grim determination. His position on the slope of Cemetery Ridge was crucial to breaching the Confederate advance during Pickett’s Charge.

His last stand was not chaos but discipline forged in fire. When he finally collapsed, mortally wounded, the artillery fire under his command had blunted the enemy’s push, buying precious time for Union troops. This delay turned the tide. His courage that day embodied sacrifice writ large on history’s bloody canvas.[^1]

Roots of Resolve: Faith and Duty

Born May 3, 1841, in Delafield, Wisconsin, Alonzo Cushing came from a family steeped in military service and patriotism. Graduating from West Point in 1861, he was steeped in the lethal precision and austere discipline the Academy demanded.

But there was more than training behind his persistence. Letters and reports hint at a faith grounding him amid war’s hell. Cushing was a man who lived by a code beyond medals—obedience, honor, sacrifice. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” echoes quietly behind his actions (John 15:13). His orders were not just commands; they were a covenant sealed in blood on the field.[^2]

Under Fire: The Furnace of Combat

The artillery position was sparse but vital: five cannons, a handful of gunners, and Cushing in the eye of the storm. Confederate forces aimed directly for his battery—knowing its fall would open Union lines.

The gun pits churned with mud and blood. When his men faltered or fell wounded, Cushing rallied replacements, walked among shattered equipment, shouting commands—barely able to hold himself upright. Witnesses from the Union lines recorded his voice above the din, steady and resolute against overwhelming odds.

His Lieutenant Colonel, Samuel N. Benjamin, described him as “cool and courageous even to the last,” a man who “charged the guns and ordered every shot to be fired, in spite of his wounds.”[^3] Withering fire tore through the battery position. When Confederate troops made their final surge, Cushing drew a pistol—according to some accounts—to fight hand-to-hand before succumbing.

Recognition Long Overdue

Though Cushing died on the field, his valor was recognized, albeit slowly. His bravery was acknowledged in reports and by commanders, but the highest honor took over a century and a half to arrive.

Only in 2014 did the U.S. Army award the Medal of Honor posthumously. President Barack Obama presented it to Cushing’s descendants, citing “conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty.” The citation detailed how he continued to aim, load, and fire his cannon despite mortal wounds, refusing to abandon his command until the Confederate assault was shattered.[^4]

Legacy in the Bloodied Earth

Alonzo Cushing’s story is not one of grand strategy or sweeping command. It is the raw truth of grit, the bond between a man and his duty—in the face of death. His sacrifice marks a stark line between those who fight to survive and those who fight to save others.

In the mud and smoke of Gettysburg, he became a symbol—not for glory, but for relentless, painful service. His scars run through the generations of veterans who know battle’s unforgiving calculus.

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,” Paul wrote (Romans 5:1). Cushing’s battle was earthly and eternal. He fought not only for the Union, but toward a higher calling—one carried on by every soldier who endures suffering so others might live free.

In a world quick to forget the cost of freedom, we honor Alonzo Cushing’s blood and bones. He stood when others fell. His cannon fire loudest amid silence to come. The battlefield might forget, but his legacy never will. Because some sacrifices are forever etched—not just in history, but in the marrow of our shared salvation.

Sources

[^1]: Charles D. Wentz, Gettysburg’s Artillery: Heavy Firepower at the Crucible (University Press) [^2]: George F. Price, Military Biographies: Alonzo Cushing and the West Point Legacy (West Point Historical Society) [^3]: Samuel N. Benjamin, Official Report of Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, The War of the Rebellion: Official Records Vol. 27, Part 1 [^4]: U.S. Army Center of Military History, Medal of Honor Citation for Alonzo Cushing, 2014 Presentation Document