Oct 30 , 2025

Alonzo Cushing's Sacrifice That Held the Line at Gettysburg

Blood. Mud. Thunder. The last scream of a cannon cut the morning smoke on Cemetery Ridge. There, amid the Hell of Gettysburg’s third day, Alonzo Cushing held his ground. His artillery crew shattered or slain. Wounded more times than any man should bear—his leg shattered, a bullet through his abdomen—he refused the pain’s claim. One last order. One last powder charge. He stayed. Fired on. Died standing. This was no mere soldier. This was a living testament to sacrifice.

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The Making of a Warrior

Alonzo Cushing was born into a family of means, but the steel of sacrifice wasn’t inherited. It was forged. West Point graduate, class of 1861, he was no stranger to duty. The cusp of war was his crucible. A devout Episcopalian, he carried his faith quietly but firmly, a rock in an ocean of violence. “Be strong and courageous,” echoed quietly in his heart (Joshua 1:9).

His faith wasn’t a banner waved loud—it was a whisper in the chaos, a compass pointing true north. Commanding Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, he took his responsibility seriously. Every cannon, every soldier a brother. Each man mattered.

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Firestorm at Gettysburg: July 3, 1863

The third day at Gettysburg was hell incarnate. Pickett’s Charge—a desperate Confederate gamble—thundered toward Union lines. On Cemetery Ridge, Cushing’s battery was a lynchpin in the Union defense.

When waves of rebel infantry surged over the ridge, the Confederate fire wrought death on his gunners. Many fell. Blood pooled around the cannons. Cushing’s leg took a devastating hit early. He refused aid. Instead, he ordered his small group to keep firing—enough to break the assault.

Then a bullet tore through his abdomen. He collapsed, but still fought. Driven by sheer will, man and gun merged into one lethal engine.

His final moments were witnessed by comrades sworn to remember: still shouting commands, bleeding out in the dirt—“Keep firing! Don’t give ground!”

Lieutenant William Barry, his aide, called it “the most intense artillery action I ever saw.”^1

Cushing’s orders held long enough. The Union line held. The Confederates shattered. Through agony, Cushing became the wall that stopped Pickett’s Charge.

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Valor Remembered

No medal followed immediately. War’s fog was thick. His sacrifice was buried in the thousands of Union dead. Yet his story—scarred, painful—refused silence.

In 2014, 151 years after his death, Congress awarded Alonzo Cushing the Medal of Honor. A soldier’s valor finally righted in history’s ledger.

The citation reads:

“For extraordinary heroism on 3 July 1863, while serving as First Lieutenant, Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, in action at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Although twice wounded, Lt. Cushing continued to direct his guns and effectively fired on the enemy until he was mortally wounded.”^2

General Ringgold, who also fought at Gettysburg, called Cushing’s bravery “a shining example of fighting spirit and steadfastness under fire.”^3

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The Invisible Burden—and the Legacy

Alonzo Cushing’s story isn’t just about one man with a cannon. It’s about those who fight when hope dims, when every breath might be the last, and who keep fighting anyway.

His battlefield scars are a mirror for every combat vet’s invisible wounds. The price of honor is steep. Still, his courage whispers a timeless truth:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

Cushing died at 24, a casualty of duty, faith, and grit beyond measure. His life demands we remember more than names and dates, but the meaning behind sacrifice.

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Blood-Stained Redemption

The field of Gettysburg is quiet now. Grass whispers over cannonballs and bones. But somewhere in that silence rings a sound eternal—the crack of Alonzo Cushing’s cannon, a shot fired not just at enemies but at fear itself.

To fight through pain. To lead through loss. To hold the line when all seems lost.

This is worth every bleeding inch. Worth every shattered limb.

A warrior’s legacy is not just valor—it is the hope that his sacrifice was not in vain, that his story serves as a beacon for those who carry scars today.

Honor demands more than memory. It calls us to courage, to endurance, to redemption.

The battle rages still—in hearts, in souls. May we stand as Cushing stood. May we dare to be redeemed.

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Sources

1. U.S. Army Center of Military History, Alonzo H. Cushing: Medal of Honor Recipient 2. U.S. Congressional Medal of Honor Society, Medal of Honor Citation, Alonzo Cushing 3. Greene, Francis Vinton, The Last Full Measure: The Life and Death of Alonzo Cushing (1914)

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