Happy in a Cave
By Davis Bitton

John Pulsipher had a tough assignment. Along with other young men, he was called to serve as a missionary among the Shoshone Indians in Wyoming.

Serving as a missionary in 1855 was not exactly what it is today. Going to preach the gospel in the eastern United States would have its own challenges, but there would be relatives and friends as well as those who were indifferent and hostile. And communication would not be a problem. Even with differing regional dialects, Americans could understand each other.

Part of Pulsipher’s assignment was to learn the Shoshone language. Without formal instruction or published grammars, he would do so by compiling lists of words, writing them down in rough phonetic form, learning simple phrases, and then gradually being able to speak and understand. For long months this linguistic environment would be difficult for the Mormon elders.

And it was cold. Pulsipher and his friends arrived in December. There was no log cabin awaiting them with a cheery blaze in the fireplace. As best they could, they erected small shelters that were little more than huts or simple tents over branches. With only partial protection from the elements, they huddled around the fire, stomping feet and blowing their hands to keep warm. At night they hoped their bedding would be sufficient to prevent shivering with chills hour after hour. It is in this setting that John Pulsipher wrote a remarkable line in his private journal: "A man can be happy in a cave if it is his duty to be there."

Called to Duty

Duty! Is this word in our vocabulary any more? I remember as a Boy Scout pledging to do by best to do my duty to God and country. When the larger-than-life General Douglas MacArthur gave his last address at West Point, he uttered in hushed tones "Duty, honor, country," with the clear indication that his country and his beloved Academy were no longer what they once were. Somehow I find it hard to associate a word like duty with some of our political leaders whose scandals dominated the news for many months.

But we readily find adherence to duty in the lives of the Latter-day Saints from the beginning to the present. Following through our Church history, we might often ask the question, "Did they do this because it was fun? Because they thought they would enjoy it?" Over and over again, the answer is immediately obvious: "No, they did it because they considered it their duty."

One might even say that the key to understanding Mormon history is the powerful sense of duty in the lives of the Saints. Gathering to Zion, crossing plains, moving to challenging new locations, going out on missions — underlying much of our history is the motivating power of duty.

When Orson Spencer died at age 53, the following tribute appeared in the Millennial Star: "Always willing and ever ready, he never failed to be at the post of duty, and fulfil the requirements made on him."

In 1881, George Q. Cannon, serving as Utah's territorial delegate in Washington, D.C., was doing everything in his power to stave off legislation against the Church and the soon-to-be-successful effort to deprive him of his seat. Then he heard by telegram of the rapidly declining health of his dear wife Elizabeth. She was failing fast.

How he longed to be by her side! Yet no one was prepared to do what he was doing in the nation's capital. Then came a telegram from his brother Angus Cannon: "She says stand your post. God can raise me up in answer to your prayers there as well as here." (Shameless plug: the details are given in my biography of George Q. Cannon.)

Practical Reality

A missionary arrives in the field and starts to labor. Soon the romantic images of imagination give way to practical realities: intense cold or heat, uncomfortable quarters, rejection and ridicule, companions with grating personality quirks. And let us not forget fleas! How early in the history of the restoration did this combination occur? Do missionaries stay at their assigned place because they hare having fun? And yet, amazingly, happiness results, even in the midst of trials, certainly afterwards as one looks back on completion of an honorable mission.

Remember John Pulsipher said he could be "happy in a cave." I like the linkage of happiness to duty. Rather than scowling and whining, people like John Pulsipher cheerfully make the best of it and feel good about doing what is right.

Yes, the sense of duty is a key to understanding much of Mormon history and experience, not only in pioneer days but right down to the present. Each of us can easily cite many examples in ward and stake settings. What is a call but a call to a specific duty? The covenants that set apart the Lord's people are the formalizing under authority of a contractual relationship that promises great blessings but also places us under an obligation — a duty.

Secular historians little understand all this. They may on the surface, but they have not experienced the reality. To many of them the Latter-day Saints from the beginning were deluded fanatics, sheep blindly following their leaders. They would have said the same thing about the early disciples of Jesus. More than a casual reference, duty is central to the restored gospel as it has gone forth in the earth and impacted lives. From the beginning, it has been central to the life experience of faithful, practicing Latter-day Saints. "Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty" (D&C 107:99).

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Davis Bitton died April 13, 2007, after having lived a long and a good life. In his own words, he is cheerfully taking in the new state of affairs and accepting the callings that will occupy himself on the other side of the veil.

During his lifetime, he was professor of history at the University of Texas at Austin, the University of California at Santa Barbara, and for 29 years the University of Utah, enjoying many congenial students and colleagues. He presented papers at scholarly conventions and published articles and books. He loved good food, good books, the out of doors, music, art, the dappled things…

No one was been more important to him than his dear wife and companion JoAn, a woman loved by all who knew her. She rallied to his side, stood by him through thick and thin, grew with him, laughed with him, made good things happen, and, marvel of marvels, agreed to be his companion through time and all eternity.

His own epitaph was, “I have not lived a perfect life, but I have tried. And I know in whom I have trusted.”