Dec 11 , 2025
Death doesn’t always come silent. Sometimes it screams through the roar of cannon fire, the clash of steel, and the cries of dying men. July 3, 1863—amid the blood and smoke of Gettysburg, one youn...
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Dec 09 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing stood at the heart of a maelstrom, a small artillery battery surrounded by the thunder of cannon and the crush of Confederate steel. Bullets sliced the air. Blood soaked his uniform....
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Dec 07 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing lay in a muddy slit trench on Cemetery Hill, artillery piece roaring in defiance as Confederate shells shrieked overhead. Blood soaked his uniform, vision blurring, but he would not ...
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Dec 06 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing’s hands were bloodied and trembling, yet he gripped the wheel of his cannon like a man chained to fate. The roar of musket fire cracked the air over Cemetery Ridge, July 3, 1863, as ...
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Dec 03 , 2025
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...
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Dec 02 , 2025
Alonzo Cushing gripped his cannon’s wheel through a smoke-choked haze, blood seeping from wounds no man should endure. The roar of Gettysburg’s third day washed over him like a relentless tide. The...
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