July 3, 1863…Last Full Measure of Devotion

“Four score and seven years ago….”  So starts one of the most recognizable speeches in American history.  On the 19th of November 1863, Abraham Lincoln stood on a make-shift platform in Gettysburg’s Evergreen Cemetery, and spoke for a few moments.  David Wills, a resident of Gettysburg, invited the President to, in a sense, sanctify the hallowed grounds of one of the nation’s bloodiest battlefields.  It might seem unthinkable in today’s environment to ask the President of the United States to hop on a train, spend the night in town, wake up the next morning and sit through a 3-hour program.  Yet, this was exactly what Lincoln did.  And then he spoke for only a few minutes.  Now, we would be appalled if this occurred, but Wills intended for Lincoln’s speech to be brief for in his invitation to the President, Wills asked him to provide “a few appropriate remarks.”

In his few appropriate remarks, Lincoln pointed out, that while he and others were there to dedicate this piece of sacred soil, in reality there was nothing they could do that was not already done.  Let me highlight just two of the ten sentences he spoke that day; “But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate – we cannot consecrate – we cannot hallow – this ground.  The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.”  The devotion, the consecration, the sanctification, the dedication, had been done four and a half months earlier.  Brave men had done what no one else, not even President Lincoln, could do. 

On that hallowed ground, two great armies fought for the first three days in that previous July.  Over and over again in epic battles, soldiers displayed incredible bravery in the face of certain death.  Today, as one tours the countryside that bore witness to the devastating carnage of fighting between the North and the South, you cannot go far without seeing a monument dedicated to a regiment, brigade, division, or an entire corps.  There are numerous statues honoring individuals involved in the fighting.  Some are more extravagant, and thus, more noticeable, than others.  There is the larger-than-life statue of General George Meade, the Union Commander, astride his horse.  Major General John Reynolds has three monuments dedicated to him, and he never saw any direct action at Gettysburg as he was killed as the battle began to unfold.  Then there is the statue of Major General Gouverneur Warren atop Little Round Top, with binoculars and saber in hand.  He is credited with identifying a gap in the defensive lines and ordering men to extend the line of battle to protect against any flanking movement of the enemy.

But at the Union line on top of Cemetery Ridge, there is a small, unassuming, granite marker bearing the name of an artillery officer killed during the Confederate attack on July 3.  First Lieutenant Alonzo H. Cushing, the commander of Battery A, Fourth United States Artillery, was one of the thousands that gave his life on that day.

Cushing was born in Wisconsin, but raised in Fredonia, New York.  He attended the United States Military Academy, 400 miles to the west.  He graduated twelfth out of thirty-four cadets, and was commissioned a second lieutenant in June 1861.  Before long, he found himself on the battlefield at Bull Run, engaged in his first fight with the enemy.  Cushing, at the time, was a member of Battery G, Second U.S. Artillery.  He also saw action at Antietam, serving then as one of General George McClellan’s aides, and it was during the May 1863 battle of Chancellorsville that Cushing was promoted to the temporary command of Battery A, Fourth U.S. Artillery.

Cushing’s Battery A consisted of six 3-inch Ordnance Rifles which fired a shell that weighed between eight and nine pounds.  It was very accurate hitting the intended target up to a mile away.  On the afternoon of July 3, Cushing’s battery, along with numerous other artillery batteries, would be tested during the famous charge named for the Confederate general, George Pickett.

The artillery duel between the Union and Confederate batteries lasted for what must have seemed like eternity.  Thousands were killed or injured as a result of the barrage of cannon and gunfire.  In the heat of the battle, one of Cushing’s sergeants attempted to head to the rear, reportedly to get a replacement wheel for one of the rifles, but Cushing stopped him, threatening to shoot him if he abandoned his post.  Some moments later three of Cushing’s limbers were hit by enemy fire.  Cushing suffered a wound to his thigh.  It would not be the last time he would get hit on this day.

As his battery continued to get torn apart, Cushing approached Brigadier General Webb, a brigade in the Second Corps, and asked him if he wanted to pull his damaged rifles out of the way for undamaged batteries.  Webb told him to stay in place for they would need everyone on the line.  Cushing then asked permission to move his last two rifles to the stone wall in front of him to avoid shooting over the heads of Union men.  Webb agreed to the request.  After moving them, Cushing had soldiers load the two rifles with whatever they could find…pieces of broken shell, stones, bayonets…and then fired.

Cushing was struck by a second bullet, this time in the shoulder.  Still, he refused to stop.  When the Confederates were less than a hundred yards from the Union front lines, Cushing received his third injury, a severe abdomen wound.  One of the men of his remaining rifles went down, and Cushing rushed in to replace him.  When firing an Ordnance Rifle, one of the men must cover the vent hole with his thumb, protected by a leather thumbstall.  Cushing did not have one, and there was no time to retrieve it from the downed soldier, so he covered it with his bare thumb, resulting in it being scalded to the bone.  At one point, he was told to get medical treatment for his wounds, he responded by saying that he would remain right where he was, and either fight to victory, or die trying.  Sadly, it would be the latter.  As he gave orders to adjust the range of the firing, he was hit a final time by a bullet.  This time Cushing was struck in the mouth, killing him instantly.

One hundred fifty-one years after giving his “last full measure of devotion”, Alonzo H. Cushing was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.  The citation accompanying the medal states that he distinguished himself by acts of bravery above and beyond the call of duty….”  He certainly did.