Alonzo Cushing's Valor on Little Round Top, Gettysburg

Oct 08 , 2025

Alonzo Cushing's Valor on Little Round Top, Gettysburg

Alonzo Cushing’s hands shook, blood dripping from shattered fingers. The guns fell silent in front of him, but he kept firing— on borrowed breath, on sheer will alone. His artillery piece roared defiance amid the chaos, smoke and screams swallowing the hill. Death stroked his heart, but he would not quit that cannon. Not while the Union line still stood.

Blood and Bone: The Making of a Soldier

Born in Wisconsin, 1841, Alonzo Cushing carried the weight of a military family heritage. West Point forged him as much in faith as in iron discipline. His was a soldier’s soul, anchored in a quiet belief that life’s ultimate test was sacrifice—to stand firm where others would fall, to be the shield when the storm came.

A devout Episcopalian, Cushing’s prayers were no soft refuge. His faith was forged in fire, whispered under breath between volleys, found strength in the grim certainty of sacrifice. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). He lived that verse.

The Battle That Defined Him: Little Round Top, Gettysburg, July 3, 1863

The third day of Gettysburg. The air thick with fear and gunpowder. Cushing’s Battery A, 4th U.S. Artillery, held the extreme left—Little Round Top’s crest, the “rock” that must not be lost. Rebel forces swarmed like wolves beneath the ridge, hungry for a crack in the Union line.

Cushing’s guns tore into the Confederate wave, each blast a claim staked in blood. A Direct hit shattered his right arm; the bone snapped beneath him. Still, he dragged himself forward to the limber chest and squeezedback the ignition mechanism. A bullet lodged in his abdomen. Still, his voice barked orders.

Witnesses recall a man broken and bent like an iron rod hammered too far but refusing to snap.

“I never saw a man fight with such desperation... Cushing fired his gun again and again until the last.” —Sergeant Cheney, 4th U.S. Artillery[^1]

His driver begged to withdraw, but Cushing ordered “Keep firing.” Minutes later, he fell, clutching his wounded body, stoic until the final breath. The artillery position held, buying crucial time for the Union flank.

Recognition Slated by Time

Alonzo Cushing died that day, too badly wounded to recover. He was awarded the brevet rank of Lieutenant Colonel posthumously, but the Medal of Honor — the nation’s highest military valor award — came almost a century and a half later, in 2014. President Barack Obama recognized his unwavering courage and sacrifice at Gettysburg, stating:

“Lieutenant Colonel Alonzo H. Cushing’s steadfast courage under fire saved the Union line and helped ensure a turning point in the Civil War.”[^2]

The Medal of Honor citation highlights his “conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty.”

His story reverberates with countless tales of grit—wounded, outgunned, outmatched, but never outmatched in the will to fight.

Blood-Tied Legacy and Eternal Watch

Alonzo Cushing’s sacrifice reminds combat soldiers of a primal truth: wounds don’t always break the man. Sometimes they forge him. His steadfastness at Little Round Top sealed the Union’s left flank, a pivot point in the war’s bloodiest battle. Gettysburg was not just a defeat of armies but a fraught crucible of purpose and resolve.

Veteran and historian Gordon Rhea captured Cushing’s spirit best:

“He felt the burden of duty beyond the call, a quiet refusal to leave his post even in the face of death.”[^3]

Courage is not the absence of fear, but the act of facing it in the face of thundering cannonfire, with a broken arm and mortal wounds. The scars, the agony—these were the price of holding the line.

The Bible says, “Be strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest” (Joshua 1:9). That promise hammered home on Little Round Top—Cushing’s faith was not empty rhetoric, but steel and blood.

He reminds every veteran still carrying invisible wounds that they are not alone. Their fight is all worth it. Their sacrifices carve the pathways for future generations.

He died at 22, a boy made a man by war. Yet his legacy burns eternal. The cannon fires silenced in him still echo for all those who answer the call and stay true when everything screams quit. Alonzo Cushing understands that price. He paid it with his life.

May we all carry that torch — unflinching, unapologetic, and fueled by faith.

[^1]: U.S. War Department, The War of the Rebellion: Official Records (Vol. 27, Part 3). [^2]: National Archives, Medal of Honor Citation - Alonzo H. Cushing, 2014. [^3]: Gordon Rhea, To Gettysburg and Beyond: The Parallel Lives of Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and Edward Porter Alexander (Louisiana State University Press, 2014).