house, and watching them I fired canister till I had for the
time silenced their great gun. I then threw a thirty-pound shell
which burst directly in the house, tearing it in pieces, and as
I afterwards learned, killing and wounding some twenty-five men.
This dis-heartened the rebels, and a few more rounds from the gun
and the rifles finished the work, and we quietly steamed down the
river to the ship. * * * Of course I was glad to learn that I had
been mentioned with credit in the official dispatch to the Navy
department.
There was nothing else that winter in the way of adventure of his
own that he thought worth mention; but he was a spectator (March 9,
1862), of the battle in Hampton Roads between the "Monitor" and the
"Merrimac," wherein the destiny of wooden ships was settled for all
time.
Alonzo was prone, with the anonymous poet, to,
Count that day lost whose low-descending sun
Saw at his hands no worthy action done.
The test of worthiness with him was usefulness to the Union cause.
So when the defenses of the capital were completed, he took up the
duties (January 21, 1862) of ordnance officer for the Second Corps,
at General Sumner's headquarters--until the return, in March, of the
Army of the Potomac from its fruitless promenade to Centerville, and
to the vacant quarters of the Confederate army there. On March 21
he was commanded to act as an aid-de-camp to Sumner, in charge of
topographical work, which was considered particularly important in the
operations at Yorktown. This lasted from April 5 to May 4, when it
was again discovered that the Confederates had declined to wait for
the annihilation prepared for them if they would delay moving until
McClellan should get all his parallels in shape according to Vauban, or
whomever the authority on earthworks then in vogue may have been.
_The last year of Alonzo's Life_
In the "seven days" before Richmond, his conduct was such as to receive
very high praise from Sumner. Before the end of July, an order of
transfer was made for him to become an officer of the Topographical
Engineers, the most intellectually elevated of all the branches of the
army.
To foregather with the military high-brows was not an aspiration
of this soldier, however, and he respectfully declined the honor.
Notwithstanding his preference for artillery work, McClellan ordered
him to perform the duties of assistant topographical engineer at his
own headquarters when he set out on the Maryland campaign, and kept
him at the work as long as he himself was in command of the Army of
the Potomac. The general had a keen eye for unusual merit in young
soldiers; one of the causes of the personal affection felt towards
him by the great bulk of his officers and men was his promptness to
acknowledge their merits.
On November 5, McClellan was superseded by General Burnside, and the
Army of the Potomac was soon after re-organized by separation into
three "grand divisions" under the respective commands of Generals
Sumner, Franklin, and Hooker, for the right, the left, and the centre.
The right grand division was naturally to take the initiative in
future movements, and Sumner wanted Cushing for topographical work
at his headquarters. The required surveying and map-making were not
objectionable to the young man, so long as no active operations were in
sight, and his labors in this direction also received warm commendation
from the commanding officers. Indeed, no task was ever placed upon the
shoulders of Alonzo Hersford Cushing, whether in civil or in military
life, so far as I have been able to ascertain, that was not well and
cheerfully done.
[Illustration: Facsimile of part of letter from Alonzo H. Cushing to
his brother Milton; written after the fights before Richmond in 1862.
For group photograph alluded to in postscript, see frontispiece to this
volume.]
The disastrous battle of Fredericksburg occurred on December 13,
and Lieutenant Cushing cut loose for the day from grand division
headquarters, taking position by the side of General Couch, commanding
the Second Corps, with whom he found ample opportunity for deeds of
heroic daring, which were acknowledged in a general way in Couch's
report of the part taken by his corps in the fight. "Lieutenant
Cushing," he says, "was with me throughout the battle, and acted with
his well-known gallantry." Such further representation of Cushing's
conduct was made to the War Department that President Lincoln brevetted
him captain, to date from the 13th of December, "for gallant and
meritorious services at the battle of Fredericksburg, Va." A leave of
absence for a three weeks' visit home was also accorded to him from
January 26, 1863--his last opportunity for a glimpse of life among
his relatives and friends. On returning to Virginia, Cushing resumed
command of his battery, and never afterwards left it until his
glorious death on the third day at Gettysburg.
The battle of Chancellorsville was prefaced by several tentative
actions, beginning at Fitzhugh's Crossing on the Rappahannock, below
Fredericksburg (April 29, 1863), and continuing at Spottsylvania
Court House, Fredericksburg, Salem Heights and Marye's Heights before
culminating in "The Wilderness" on May 3.
What Cushing did in this fighting, I have not been able to ascertain;
but that it partook of the character of his service is evident
because the President gave him the brevet of major, dating from May
2, 1863, "for gallant and meritorious services at the battle of
Chancellorsville." It may incidentally be mentioned that in those days
a presidential brevet was of more importance than it afterwards became
under subsequent acts of Congress. Originally it entitled the officer,
if he pleased, to wear the uniform of his brevet rank, to be addressed
by his brevet title, and to serve as of his brevet rank when specially
detailed. Under later laws he could not properly wear the uniform of
rank above that which belonged to him by regular commission.
It was a short two months from Chancellorsville to Gettysburg, and the
concluding two weeks were full of incident for the men engaged, though
history has not considered it worth while to note the incidents in
any length of detail. Even the _Rebellion Records_ published by the
national government have little to say of the marches of the two great
opposing armies from the Rappahannock to the sources of the Monocacy
and beyond.
But the destiny of the Republic was entwined in the serpentine paths of
Lee's army going down the west side of the Blue Ridge, and Hooker's on
the east side, both headed towards the north. A change of commanders of
the Army of the Potomac was also impending, of which the soldiers knew
nothing, but which was all the time a puzzle and worry to the corps and
division leaders. Cushing, with an ever cheerful face, was found with
his battery in front of each successive mountain pass reached by the
advance of Lee's forces, as the latter moved along the valley of the
Shenandoah on the western side of the range.
On June 25, Hancock concentrated the Second Corps, of which he was now
the head, at Haymarket, only a few miles from Manassas and Thoroughfare
Gaps. There the Confederate cavalry general, Stuart, was surprised
to find so large a force and went back over the mountains--again
northward, in the track of Lee, instead of delaying the Union army by
a raid on its rear, as he had expected to do when he was detached from
the main Confederate army before crossing the Potomac.
That Hancock should parallel Stuart's march was a matter of course, and
on June 30 he was in bivouac at Taneytown, half a dozen miles south
of Gettysburg. The next day the curtain was partially withdrawn from
the most magnificent spectacle of a conflict of ideas, supported by
fighting men, that the Western Continent, at least, ever witnessed.
Hancock's corps, to which Cushing was attached, was resting at
Taneytown all day; but after the death of General Reynolds, Hancock was
on the battlefield north of the town; and although the battery was with
the rest of the corps, there can be little doubt that Cushing was with
him personally as a temporary aide. My reason for assuming this is,
that the brevet of lieutenant-colonel, made out for him the next day,
stated that the honor was conferred "for conspicuous gallantry at the
battle of Gettysburg, Pa., July 1, 1863."
I wish that I had even one letter written by Lieutenant Cushing between
Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, but I have knowledge of none. Such a
document would admit us to his inner feelings. From his acts alone, and
from what his most intimate acquaintances in the army have written,
our judgment must be formed. A history of the great battle can not be
given here; but fortunately no account of the engagement by a reputable
writer fails to take notice of the part taken by the brave young son of
Wisconsin in stemming the high tide of rebellion on the third day of
the conflict. In Colonel Haskell's absorbing story, a tribute is also
paid to Cushing's endeavors on the second day.[6] To that narrative
the reader is referred for that, among other living pictures of the
deadly struggle.
[6] Frank Aretas Haskell, _The Battle of Gettysburg_ (Wisconsin History
Commission: Reprints, No. 1, November, 1908), pp. 102, 116, 120, 121.
For me, it must be sufficient to portray as well as I can the final
stand of Battery A and its commander at the focus of the last day's
fighting. Our line of battle stretched along the ridge overlooking the
valley between it and the southern armies; along its whole length,
fighting was either imminent or actually in evidence. The thunder of
artillery was like a continuous roar that filled the atmosphere. The
fire of most of the one hundred and fifteen Confederate cannon then in
action seemed to be directed by a kind of instinct towards the point
in our line where the batteries of Cushing, Woodruff, and Rorty were
belching destruction in the faces of their assailants, a mile and a
half away. The artillery practice of the Southerners was good. Between
the afternoon hours of 1 and 3, many of our artillery organizations
suffered severe losses by the bursting of ammunition chests, the
breaking of wheels of gun carriages, and the overthrow of horses that
lay in death struggles on the ground. Men were hit, also. Among the
first to receive a serious wound that fateful afternoon was Cushing
himself. Both thighs were torn open by a fragment of shell--under which
ill fortune, said General Webb in his report, "he fought for an hour
and a half, cool, brave, competent."
The commander of his brigade, Colonel Hall, reported that:
he challenged the admiration of all who saw him. Three of his
limbers were blown up and changed with the caisson limbers, under
fire. Several wheels were shot off his guns and replaced, till at
last, severely wounded himself, his officers all killed or wounded,
and with but cannoneers enough to man a section, he pushed his
gun to the fence in front and was killed while serving his last
canister into the ranks of the advancing enemy.
Hall's last reference is to a later hour of July 3 than that to
which I at present wish to call attention. It is near 3 o'clock in
the afternoon. To give them an opportunity to cool off somewhat, our
eighty cannon have been ordered to cease firing. The artillerymen throw
themselves on the ground to rest, or help clear away dead horses and
other debris from about the guns. Our infantry line is closely fronted
by stone walls and other fences along the Emmetsburg road, or a short
distance back from that thoroughfare. The protection thus afforded
is not at all certain, even when sods are packed against the fences,
for a solid cannon shot or fragment of shell may penetrate such an
earthwork, when reinforced only by a wooden fence, as though it were a
row of cigar boxes. It affords some defense, however, against bullets
which strike diagonally, or are fired over a considerable distance.
Down in front of the hill called "Round Top," Kilpatrick's cavalry
are worrying the right of the enemy; but that fails to disturb those
in the neighborhood of Cushing, who was almost in the middle of the
outstretched line of Union troops.
Now Pickett's splendid column of 17,000 Virginians emerge from the
woods on the farther side of the valley, and direct their course
towards the point where Cushing is holding a front place. Other Union
batteries are hurling solid shot at the enemy, as they start on their
fatal journey across the valley. Confederate cannon send volleys
of shell over the heads of their infantry, into the groups of our
cannoneers, who continue to pelt the advancing column. The iron shells
burst in midair, with puffs of smoke, like sporadic ejections from the
smoke-pipe of a locomotive engine, but with resounding clangs. If the
puff from a bursting shell is behind you, or directly overhead, you
are safe from the effects of that explosion; but if seen in front, the
iron fragments are likely to cut through the flesh and bones of some of
you; for the forward motion of the shell is not lost by its explosion,
although the pieces acquire additional directions of flight. There is
a composite of demoniac noises, every missile splitting the atmosphere
with its own individual hum, whir, or shriek; the musketry rattle like
hail, and the deep boom of cannonry lends its all-pervading basso to
the symphony of thousands of instruments and voices.
As the grim column hurries on, our batteries change from solid shot to
shell, tearing great gaps in the advancing lines; but these resolutely
close up, and move forward to attain a distance from which their rifled
muskets shall be used effectively against us. This reached, they begin
blazing away. Cushing and his neighbors open upon them with canister
and case, every discharge sending a shower of small metal into the
approaching ranks. However, the survivors press onward, firing as they
come, and the batteries behind them send their shell among our cannon,
killing horses and men, and overthrowing guns, but not yet harming
afresh the young hero whom we are particularly noting. Woodruff and
Rorty are slain, though, at the head of other batteries close at hand.
At last a bullet pierces Cushing's shoulder. He simply laughs at the
hurt, calling to Webb, his division commander, "I'll give them one more
shot. Good-by!" As he serves the last round of canister, another bullet
strikes him in the mouth, passing through the base of his brain, and
he falls forward, bereft of life, into the arms of his clarion-voiced,
resolute, and fearless orderly sergeant, Frederick Fuger, whom he has
called to his side to convey his orders to the men.
The Union line of infantry was also making use of its muskets, in
trying to stop the Confederate assault. The aim of the soldiers was
more or less accurate in proportion to the nerve-control exercised
by the respective individuals engaged. For not all of the forces
attacking or attacked are fully conscious of what they are doing,
when the surrounding air is pregnant with death. Some try to shoot
with their eyes shut, and others forget to place a percussion cap on
their firearm. Out of over thirty-seven thousand muskets left on the
Gettysburg battle-ground by soldiers of both sides, no longer able to
carry them, nearly a third were loaded with more than one cartridge
each, and many with more than two. We pardon the confusion of mind
exhibited before his audience, by a young actor or speaker, and it
surely is no less to be expected that unaccustomed soldiers should
often feel trepidation when face to face with death.
Despite the firing from our side, a hundred of Armistead's men kept
close to their chief, leaping the fence next to Cushing's battery, just
behind him, and in time to see their leader lay hand on Cushing's last
cannon and fall dying with a bullet through his body--only a few yards
from where his late indomitable opponent lay dead.
By the side of that field-piece, went out the lives of two as gallant
warriors as ever wielded sword on battlefield, and Cushing still
lacked six months of completing his twenty-third year of life. The
Southern soldiers who thought they had taken the battery, now rushed
back or surrendered on the spot, and the flood tide of rebellion began
to recede, never again to attain so dangerous a height, although often
rising somewhat uncomfortably.
The loss of a son so high in aspiration and so capable for the
achievement of necessary tasks, must have been a grievous stroke for
his mother to bear--she who had placed her greatest reliance upon him,
rather than upon his brothers. For her compensation for such a loss,
she was allowed a pension of seventeen dollars per month until the year
of her death (which happened March 26, 1891), when the allowance was
increased to fifty dollars. In this case the national government was
certainly very much the reverse of liberal in its recognition of the
services of a noble mother, who had formed the character of a noble son
whose life was joyfully laid upon the altar of his country.
It is pleasant to be able to state that Sergeant Fuger, who took
command of the battery after the death and disablement of its three
commissioned officers taking part in the battle, was promoted to a
lieutenancy in the regiment. He served in the regular order of grades
until retired (about 1900) on account of age, as colonel, since which
he has lived in the city of Washington. From a letter recently written
by him to Mrs. Bouton, I am permitted to make the following transcript:
In answer to your letter received yesterday morning, I would
say that the best friend I had was your dear brother, Alonzo H.
Cushing, First Lieutenant 4th Artillery, commanding Battery A, 4th
Artillery, at the battle of Gettysburg. On the morning of July 4,
1863, I received an order from Gen. Hancock, commanding 2d Corps,
to send your brother's body to West Point for burial. I placed the
body in care of two non-commissioned officers who were slightly
wounded, to take it to West Point.
The manner of your brother's death was this: When the enemy was
within about four hundred yards, Battery A opened with single
charges of canister. At that time Cushing was wounded in the right
shoulder, and within a few seconds after that he was wounded in the
abdomen; a very severe and painful wound. He called and told me to
stand by him so that I could impart his orders to the battery. He
became very ill and suffered frightfully. I wanted him to go to the
rear. "No," he said, "I stay right here and fight it out, or die
in the attempt."
When the enemy got within two hundred yards, double and triple
charges of canister were used. Those charges opened immense gaps
in the Confederate lines. Lieut. Milne, who commanded the right
half-battery, was killed when the enemy was within two hundred
yards of the battery. When the enemy came within about one hundred
yards, Lieutenant Cushing was shot through the mouth and instantly
killed. When I saw him fall forward, I caught him in my arms,
ordered two men to take his body to the rear, and shouted to my
men, as I was left in command, to fire triple charges of canister.
Owing to dense smoke, I could not see very far to the front, but to
my utter astonishment I saw the Confederate General Armistead leap
over the stone fence with quite a number of his men, landing right
in the midst of our battery, but my devoted cannoneers and drivers
stood their ground, fighting hand to hand with pistols, sabers,
handspikes and rammers, and with the assistance of the Philadelphia
brigade, the enemy collapsed and Pickett's charge was defeated. The
gall and behavior of the men in Battery A was entirely due to your
brother's training and example set on numerous battlefields.
Lieutenant Cushing, my commander, was a most able soldier, of
excellent judgment and great decision of character. Devoted to his
profession, he was most faithful in the discharge of every duty,
accurate and thorough in its performance. Possessed of mental and
physical vigor, joined to the kindest of hearts, he commanded
the love and respect of all who knew him. His superiors placed
implicit confidence in him, as well they might. His fearlessness
and resolution displayed in many actions were unsurpassed, and his
noble death at Gettysburg should present an example for emulation
to patriotic defenders of the country through all time to come.
General Armistead fell, mortally wounded, where I stood, about
seven yards from where Lieutenant Cushing, his young and gallant
adversary, was killed. In height your brother was five feet nine
inches, in weight about one hundred and fifty pounds, good long
limbs, broad shoulders, blue eyes, dark brown hair, smooth face,
without beard or mustache, and rather swarthy complexion.
From other communications of the colonel, addressed to myself, I learn
that Lieutenant Cushing personally saved the battery from capture at
the battle of Antietam; that its loss at Gettysburg was two officers
killed and one wounded, seven enlisted men killed and thirty-eight
wounded, and eighty-three horses killed out of ninety taken into the
action. Not an uninjured wheel remained, and nine ammunition chests
were blown up. Ninety enlisted men belonging to the battery were on
duty at the beginning of the fight.
Corporal Thomas Moon has also written his recollections of the day,
and although his memory seems somewhat at fault in relation to certain
matters, his description is worth reading. He says:
Cushing was a small-sized man with blue eyes, smooth face and
auburn hair, and looked more like a school girl than a warrior; but
he was the best fighting man I ever saw. Our battery arrived on the
field July 2 and took position on the left of the 2d corps. I was
sent to the rear with the 4th caisson. We went back over the hill
close to General Meade's headquarters. When the heavy cannonading
commenced on the 3d we went further to the rear. About the time
that Pickett was ordered to charge, I was ordered to the battery.
I was informed by the courier that I would find the battery on
the right of the 2d corps, at the grove and angle. My horse made
a good run for about a mile. I found my piece, the 4th, still on
her wheels, and all the canister we had piled up around her. I had
been on the ground but a few minutes before I found the gun hot and
firing slow. A very few minutes passed until the smoke raised, and
we saw the head of Pickett's column within three hundred yards of
us. We had the opportunity of our lives; just what an artilleryman
wants. We had a flank fire on them and enough canister to stop
them, but before they got to the stone wall in front we were out
of ammunition and my gun was dismounted. Lieutenant Cushing was on
the right. We both got to the piece in front about the same time. I
found the piece out of canister, started back to the limber, looked
back and saw General Armistead with his hat on his sword yelling
to his men, and Cushing being held up by some infantry officer.
If I had stayed at the gun as long as Cushing did, I would have
been there yet. Our guns were all disabled, limbers and caissons
blown up, men and horses killed and wounded, and the battery under
command of a First Sergeant (afterwards lieutenant) Frederick
Fuger, a 10-year man, and as fine a soldier and officer as ever
faced an enemy. I was on duty that night--had three men under me.
All we had to guard was a few dead men. We took Lieutenant Cushing
and three or four men off the field. It rained all night.
[Illustration: HOWARD B. CUSHING]
Now, as to Cushing's wounds. One piece of shell struck him in the
thighs; another piece struck him in the shoulder; but he stuck to
the guns until a ball struck him right under the nose. He fell on
one side of the piece and General Armistead on the other. His right
thumb was burned to the bone, serving vent without a thumb-pad. We
were all tired, powder-burned and bruised; so we laid the dead men
together and lay atop of them all night. The next morning we took
Cushing's fatigue blouse off, and his cook got that after I took
off the shoulder-straps. I carried them till the next winter, and
gave them to his brother (Howard) at Brandy Station.