HOSEA BIGLOW. by James Russell Lowell: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A Massachusetts soldier, Hosea Biglow, writes home from the Mexican-American War, and he's far from impressed.
The poem
This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin', A chap could clear right out from there ef 't only looked like rainin', An' th' Cunnles, tu, could kiver up their shappoes with bandanners, An' send the insines skootin' to the bar-room with their banners (Fear o' gittin' on 'em spotted), an' a feller could cry quarter Ef he fired away his ramrod arter tu much rum an' water. Recollect wut fun we hed, you 'n' I an' Ezry Hollis, Up there to Waltham plain last fall, along o' the Cornwallis?[12] This sort o' thing aint _jest_ like thet,--I wish thet I wuz furder,[13]-- Ninepunce a day fer killin' folks comes kind o' low fer murder, 10 (Wy I've worked out to slarterin' some fer Deacon Cephas Billins, An' in the hardest times there wuz I ollers tetched ten shillins.) There's sutthin' gits into my throat thet makes it hard to swaller, It comes so naturel to think about a hempen collar; It's glory,--but, in spite o' all my tryin' to git callous, I feel a kind o' in a cart, aridin' to the gallus. But wen it comes to _bein'_ killed,--I tell ye I felt streaked The fust time 't ever I found out wy baggonets wuz peaked; Here's how it wuz: I started out to go to a fandango, The sentinul he ups an' sez, 'Thet's furder 'an you can go.' 20 'None o' your sarse,' sez I; sez he, 'Stan' back!' 'Aint you a buster?' Sez I, 'I'm up to all thet air, I guess I've ben to muster; I know wy sentinuls air sot; you aint agoin' to eat us; Caleb haint no monopoly to court the seenorcetas; My folks to hum air full ez good ez his'n be, by golly!' An' so ez I wuz goin' by, not thinkin' wut would folly, The everlastin' cus he stuck his one-pronged pitchfork in me An' made a hole right thru my close ez ef I wuz an in'my. Wal, it beats all how big I felt hoorawin' in ole Funnel Wen Mister Bolles he gin the sword to our Leftenant Cunnle, 30 (It's Mister Secondary Bolles,[14] thet writ the prize peace essay. Thet's wy he didn't list himself along o' us, I dessay,) An' Rantoul, tu, talked pooty loud, but don't put _his_ foot in it, Coz human life's so sacred thet he's principled agin it,-- Though I myself can't rightly see it's any wus achokin' on 'em; Than puttin' bullets thru their lights, or with a bagnet pokin' on 'em; How dreffle slick he reeled it off (like Blitz at our lyceum Ahaulin' ribbins from his chops so quick you skeercely see 'em), About the Anglo-Saxon race (an' saxons would be handy To du the buryin' down here upon the Rio Grandy), 40 About our patriotic pas an' our star-spangled banner, Our country's bird alookin' on an' singin' out hosanner, An' how he (Mister B. himself) wuz happy fer Ameriky,-- I felt, ez sister Patience sez, a leetle mite histericky. I felt, I swon, ez though it wuz a dreffle kind o' privilege Atrampin' round thru Boston streets among the gutter's drivelage; I act'lly thought it wuz a treat to hear a little drummin', An' it did bonyfidy seem millanyum wuz acomin' Wen all on us got suits (darned like them wore in the state prison) An' every feller felt ez though all Mexico wuz hisn.[15] 50 This 'ere's about the meanest place a skunk could wal dlskiver (Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Salt-river); The sort o' trash a feller gits to eat doos beat all nater, I'd give a year's pay fer a smell o' one good blue-nose tater, The country here thet Mister Bolles declared to be so charmin' Throughout is swarmin' with the most alarmin' kind o' varmin. He talked about delishis froots, but then it wuz a wopper all, The holl on 't 's mud an' prickly pears, with here an' there a chapparal; You see a feller peekin' out, an', fust you know, a lariat Is round your throat an' you a copse, 'fore you can say, 'Wut air ye at?'[16] 60 You never see sech darned gret bugs (it may not be irrelevant To say I've seen a _scarabæus pilularius_[17] big ez a year old elephant), The rigiment come up one day in time to stop a red bug From runnin off with Cunnle Wright,--'twuz jest a common _cimex lectularius._ One night I started up on eend an' thought I wuz to hum agin, I heern a horn, thinks I it's Sol the fisherman hez come agin, _His_ bellowses is sound enough,--ez I'm a livin' creeter, I felt a thing go thru my leg--'twuz nothin' more 'n a skeeter! Then there's the yaller fever, tu, they call it here el vomito,-- (Come, thet wun't du, you landcrab there, I tell ye to le' _go_ my toe! 70 My gracious! it's a scorpion thet's took a shine to play with 't, I darsn't skeer the tarnal thing fer fear he'd run away with 't,) Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,[18]--an ourang outang nation, A sort o' folks a chap could kill an' never dream on 't arter, No more 'n a feller'd dream o' pigs thet he hed hed to slarter; I'd an idee thet they were built arter the darkie fashion all, An' kickin' colored folks about, you know 's a kind o' national; But wen I jined I worn't so wise ez thet air queen o' Sheby, Fer, come to look at 'em, they aint much diff'rent from wut we be, 80 An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions, Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions, Wich means to take a feller up jest by the slack o' 's trowsis An' walk him Spanish clean right out o' all his homes an' houses; Wal, it doos seem a curus way, but then hooraw fer Jackson! It must be right, fer Caleb sez it's reg'lar Anglo-Saxon, The Mex'cans don't fight fair, they say, they piz'n all the water, An' du amazin' lots o' things thet isn't wut they ough' to; Bein' they haint no lead, they make their bullets out o' copper An' shoot the darned things at us, tu, wich Caleb sez ain proper; 90 He sez they'd ough' to stan' right up an' let us pop 'em fairly (Guess wen he ketches 'em at thet he'll hev to git up airly), Thet our nation's bigger 'n theirn an' so its rights air bigger, An' thet it's all to make 'em free thet we air pullin' trigger, Thet Anglo Saxondom's idee's abreakin' 'em to pieces, An' thet idee's thet every man doos jest wut he damn pleases; Ef I don't make his meanin' clear, perhaps in some respex I can, I know thet 'every man' don't mean a nigger or a Mexican; An' there's another thing I know, an' thet is, ef these creeters, Thet stick an Anglosaxon mask onto State-prison feeturs, 100 Should come to Jaalam Centre fer to argify an' spout on 't, The gals 'ould count the silver spoons the minnit they cleared out on 't. This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur, An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter; O, wouldn't I be off, quick time, ef 't worn't thet I wuz sartin They'd let the daylight into me to pay me fer desartin! I don't approve o' tellin' tales, but jest to you I may state Our ossifers aiut wut they wuz afore they left the Bay-state; Then it wuz 'Mister Sawin, sir, you're middlin' well now, be ye? Step up an' take a nipper, sir; I'm dreffle glad to see ye:' 110 But now it's 'Ware's my eppylet? here, Sawin, step an' fetch it! An' mind your eye, be thund'rin' spry, or, damn ye, you shall ketch it!' Wal, ez the Doctor sez, some pork will bile so, but by mighty, Ef I hed some on 'em to hum, I'd give 'em linkum vity, I'd play the rogue's march on their hides an' other music follerin'-- But I must close my letter here, fer one on 'em 's ahollerin', These Anglosaxon ossifers,--wal, taint no use ajawin', I'm safe enlisted fer the war, Yourn,
A Massachusetts soldier, Hosea Biglow, writes home from the Mexican-American War, and he's far from impressed. In a rough Yankee dialect, he highlights the stark contrast between the patriotic speeches back home and the harsh, bewildering reality of battling in a foreign land for reasons he struggles to accept. By the end, he feels like deserting but finds he can't, and the entire letter comes off as a biting joke aimed at politicians, officers, and the notion of "Anglo-Saxon" glory.
Line-by-line
This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin', / A chap could clear right out from there ef 't only looked like rainin',
This sort o' thing aint _jest_ like thet,--I wish thet I wuz furder,-- / Ninepunce a day fer killin' folks comes kind o' low fer murder,
Here's how it wuz: I started out to go to a fandango, / The sentinul he ups an' sez, 'Thet's furder 'an you can go.'
Wal, it beats all how big I felt hoorawin' in ole Funnel / Wen Mister Bolles he gin the sword to our Leftenant Cunnle,
This 'ere's about the meanest place a skunk could wal dlskiver / (Saltillo's Mexican, I b'lieve, fer wut we call Salt-river);
Afore I come away from hum I hed a strong persuasion / Thet Mexicans worn't human beans,--an ourang outang nation,
An' here we air ascrougin' 'em out o' thir own dominions, / Ashelterin' 'em, ez Caleb sez, under our eagle's pinions,
This goin' ware glory waits ye haint one agreeable feetur, / An' ef it worn't fer wakin' snakes, I'd home agin short meter;
Tone & mood
The tone is both sardonic and weary, filled with genuine moral anger. Lowell uses a thick New England dialect, adding a humorous touch to the story — Hosea comes off as a bumbling, plain-spoken comic figure. Yet, the humor takes aim at serious issues: political hypocrisy, racial dehumanization, and the disconnect between patriotic words and the grim reality faced by those who are dying. By the end, much of the comedy has faded, leaving behind a man who feels trapped and aware of the lies he's been fed.
Symbols & metaphors
- The hempen collar / gallows — Hosea envisions himself heading to the gallows, reflecting both the real fear of dying in battle and the feeling that signing up was, in a way, a death sentence he stepped into without fully grasping what it meant.
- The bayonet ('one-pronged pitchfork') — By referring to the bayonet as a pitchfork, Hosea turns a weapon of imperial conflict into an everyday farming tool — something associated with regular rural life. This choice also transforms the violence into something absurd rather than heroic, which aligns perfectly with Lowell's argument.
- The eagle's pinions — The American eagle spreading its wings over Mexico represents protection and freedom. Hosea puts it more bluntly: it's about grabbing someone by the trousers and tossing them out of their own house — a straightforward way to describe imperial conquest.
- Anglo-Saxon rhetoric — Every time a character mentions 'Anglo-Saxon' destiny or freedom, Lowell reveals it as a mask—explicitly referred to as a mask in line 100—that hides greed, racism, and violence. The term signals that a deception is about to unfold.
- Saltillo / Salt River — Salt River was a term used in American slang to refer to political defeat or ruin. By pointing out that Saltillo simply means the same in Spanish, Hosea subtly implies that the entire war is leading to a dead end.
- The uniform ('suits darned like them wore in the state prison') — The soldiers' uniforms resemble prison clothes, blurring the line between serving their country and facing punishment. The men enlisted for honor but found themselves in a form of open-air confinement.
Historical context
James Russell Lowell began publishing the Biglow Papers, a collection of satirical poems in Yankee dialect, in 1846, right in the midst of the Mexican-American War. As a staunch abolitionist and anti-imperialist, Lowell used these papers to criticize the war in a way that everyday New Englanders could relate to and appreciate. The character Hosea Biglow, a fictional farmer-soldier, writes letters home that reveal the disconnect between political speeches and the harsh realities of war. The poems take aim at real individuals, such as Robert Rantoul Jr., a Massachusetts congressman who delivered pro-war speeches while professing pacifist beliefs; and "Mr. Secondary Bolles," a jab at a writer of peace essays who still celebrated the war. The Mexican-American War (1846–1848) sparked significant controversy in the North, where many viewed it as a tactic to seize land for the expansion of slavery. Lowell's choice to write in dialect was intentional—it infused the critique with a populist, grassroots quality that formal poetry simply couldn’t convey.
FAQ
Lowell captures the voice of a rural Massachusetts farmer by spelling words the way that character would pronounce them — 'sogerin'' for soldiering, 'sez' for says, 'wuz' for was. This is a purposeful artistic decision. The dialect brings Hosea to life as a genuine person instead of just a poet, lending his critiques of the war a straightforward, common-sense credibility that more elaborate verse lacks.
The Mexican-American War (1846–1848) was a conflict where the United States invaded Mexico, resulting in the acquisition of nearly half of its territory, which includes present-day California, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. Many people in the North, including Lowell, viewed the war as an unjust attempt to take land and spread slavery into new states.
'Caleb' represents the pro-war political voices that Hosea has taken in — politicians and officers who defend the war by invoking Anglo-Saxon destiny and freedom. Each time Hosea quotes Caleb, he follows up by quietly dismantling Caleb's arguments. This approach allows Lowell to incorporate the official propaganda into the poem while letting a straightforward soldier reveal its emptiness.
This is the moral center of the poem. Hosea comes in believing the racist propaganda that Mexicans are subhuman — he likens his previous views to the treatment of enslaved Black people. However, when he meets Mexicans in person, he understands they are just like anyone else. Lowell uses this moment to link the racism of the war to the racism of slavery, implying that both are built on the same falsehood.
Desertion during wartime could lead to the death penalty — the phrase 'they'd let the daylight into me' suggests he'd be shot. He's stuck in this situation. The poem concludes with an officer cutting him off mid-sentence, highlighting that he can't even complete a letter without being commanded.
Robert Rantoul Jr. was a genuine politician from Massachusetts who delivered patriotic pro-war speeches while professing that human life was sacred. 'Mr. Secondary Bolles' pokes fun at a man who won a peace essay prize but still showed up to distribute swords at the rally for soldiers. Lowell argues that the most vocal supporters of the war were often those least likely to take part in it.
The Anglo-Saxon argument was a widely held belief in the 19th century that people of English descent had a unique mission to spread civilization and freedom throughout the continent, often referred to as Manifest Destiny. In his work, Lowell has Hosea highlight the contradiction: the 'freedom' being imposed at gunpoint doesn't extend to Black Americans or Mexicans. According to Lowell, this entire argument is just a facade, a mask that covers up the realities of conquest and racism.
Yes and no. The dialect, the exaggerated bugs, and the tale of getting bayoneted on the way to a dance — these are genuinely funny. However, Lowell uses this humor to convey serious moral arguments about racism, imperialism, and political hypocrisy. By the end, when Hosea admits he’s trapped and can’t escape, the comedy fades away. It’s the kind of humor that makes you feel a bit uneasy once you reflect on what was actually said.