Alonzo Cushing's Sacrifice at Little Round Top, Gettysburg

Dec 03 , 2025

Alonzo Cushing's Sacrifice at Little Round Top, Gettysburg

Cannon fire roared. Smoke filled the air like a shroud.

Amid the chaos at Little Round Top, a young Union artillery officer refused to quit. Guns blazed, men fell, bones cracked. Yet Alonzo Cushing, bleeding, broken, stood his ground—his fingers tightening on the lanyard to keep his cannon firing. Every breath a battle. Every heartbeat a defiance of death itself.

This was no ordinary courage. This was holy sacrifice carved into the bedrock of Gettysburg.

The Soldier Behind the Gun

Alonzo Herschel Cushing was born into a family steeped in service. The older brother to William B. Cushing, famed Navy officer, Alonzo carried a name heavy with expectation—and lived up to it in blood and grit. Appointed to West Point in 1857, he graduated second in his class, a shining example of military precision married to iron will.[¹]

Faith marked his path as much as discipline. A devout Christian, Cushing’s daily prayers whispered of duty beyond self—an unwavering belief that his sacrifices fed a higher purpose. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13) was more than scripture. It was a code he lived and died by.

The Battle That Defined Him

July 3, 1863. Gettysburg was a crucible. The Confederates pressed hard on Little Round Top, the Union’s vulnerable flank. Major General George Sykes’ division was thinning under relentless assault. Amid this turmoil, 2nd Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing took command of Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, after his superior was incapacitated.[²]

Despite being struck repeatedly—one bullet shattering his right arm, another gutting him—Cushing stayed at his post. Bleeding profusely, weakened by shock and pain, he made one choice: keep those guns firing upward into the waves of Confederate infantry.

Cushing’s artillery mowed down attackers, buying critical seconds for Union troops to regroup and hold. Witnesses described him propped at his cannon, blood pouring down his uniform, shouting commands through clenched teeth. His voice, ragged but unyielding, became a beacon of relentless defiance.[³]

“I did not think I should live five minutes,” he reportedly said to his men, “but we must hold this ground at all hazards.”

Finally, he collapsed, succumbing to his wounds on the field, but only after ensuring his battery kept unloading iron at the enemy.

Recognition Forged in Bronze and Blood

Alonzo Cushing was buried as a fallen hero shortly after the battle. Yet recognition eluded him for decades. It wasn’t until 2014—151 years later—that the Medal of Honor was awarded posthumously, a belated but righteous testament to his valor.[⁴]

The citation read:

“First Lieutenant Alonzo Cushing distinguished himself by gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty, while serving with Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, in action against Confederate forces on July 3, 1863, during the Battle of Gettysburg.”[⁴]

General Alexander S. Webb, wounded and bleeding himself after commanding the 2nd Corps defense of Little Round Top, reportedly called Cushing’s actions “one of the most heroic deeds of the war.”[³]

Integrity under fire. Devotion beyond despair. Cushing’s story was cemented not just by medals but by the voices of those who stood by him, men who witnessed valor in its purest form.

The Enduring Legacy of Alonzo Cushing

In the furnace of Gettysburg’s bloodiest hours, Alonzo Cushing wrote a chapter of sacrifice few can match. The artillery officer’s grit under mortal wounds teaches a brutal lesson: heroism is never comfortable or clean. It is wrought in suffering, pain, and the solemn acceptance of death’s inevitability.

His legacy is a mirror held up to every soldier who has ever chosen mission over life, an echo of Romans 12:1:

“...present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.”

Today, as bullets and bombs give way to distant wars and new battlefields, Cushing’s story refuses to fade. His sacrifice reminds us that courage sometimes means standing alone at the gun, broken but unyielding. That honor lives not in survival, but in choosing to fight when the body screams to quit.

Alonzo Cushing held the line on Little Round Top with every ounce of his shattered being. His blood watered freedom.

May we never forget what that cost—and may the echoes of his sacrifice challenge us all.

Sources

1. West Point Association of Graduates, Register of Graduates and Former Cadets of the United States Military Academy 2. U.S. Army Center of Military History, Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery: Gettysburg Official Reports 3. Harry W. Pfanz, Gettysburg: The Second Day (University of North Carolina Press) 4. Congressional Medal of Honor Society, Medal of Honor Citation for Alonzo Cushing (2014)