By the time of the arrests in Graysville, Tennessee, 53 Sabbathkeepers had been convicted of Sunday violations, and 30 had gone to prison. Prior to the Supreme Court’s “Christian Nation” decision in 1892, Sabbathkeepers had spent thousands of dollars on lawyers’ fees to escape conviction, usually without success. After 1892, they considered the cause hopeless, and spoke the best they could in their own defense.
But though the beleaguered Graysville Sabbathkeepers had little hope in the court, they had plenty of help outside. The American Sentinel, an eight-year-old journal of religious liberty, sent reporters to cover the trials.
The three newspapers in Dayton, Tennessee, were outspoken in defense of the Sabbathkeepers, and before the Graysville cases finally were resolved, more than 250 newspapers across the country sided with the Sabbathkeepers.
Anyone arriving in Dayton by rail on Sunday, March 4, the day before the trial began, could have gathered ample evidence that what Sabbathkeepers faced was religious discrimination rather than simple prosecution under the law.
The fact that one could get to Dayton on a Sunday train would have been the first proof. Then, walking down the street toward the courthouse, doubtlessly one would see three small boys sucking hard candy in front of the drugstore and hear the cash-register bell jangle periodically inside.
From the courthouse, one could see the belching smokestack of the Dayton Coal and Iron Company. Like a black flag, the smoke signaled that 400 or more workmen were keeping the furnaces hot on Sunday. The switch engine as it coughed and whistled away with its load of slag could also be heard. But only the Sabbathkeepers were charged with working on Sunday.
A little investigation by Dayton’s local papers revealed that members of the grand jury that indicted the Sabbathkeepers were hiring extra help to pick their strawberries on Sundays just as on other days. (The defendant, G. W. Colcord, was arrested, not for working himself, but for letting his students wash clothes and saw wood on Sunday.)
Bill Burchard pleaded not guilty to the charges against him, saying he had not violated the Sabbath, because the Bible says Saturday is the Sabbath. Colcord—stoop-shouldered, aging, and wearing a giant patriarchal beard—appealed to the Declaration of Rights in the Tennessee Constitution, which said that “no human authority can, in any case whatever, control or interfere with the rights of conscience.” The Declaration also forbade any preference to any religious establishment or mode of worship.
Judge J. G. Parks was sympathetic, but he said his was a secular not a religious court. The only question for the jury, he said, was what the law said and whether it had been violated. He pointed out that he had a sworn duty to enforce the law and ensure its respect.
Judge Parks then argued weakly that the Sunday law was not one that protects a particular belief but one that “protects the unanimous belief of nearly all Christian denominations.”
Then he presented his dilemma: “But here we have a very respectable element of Christian believers who are an honest, inoffensive, law-abiding people in all matters not conflicting with their sense of duty, who believe they are under divine command to observe the seventh day as the Sabbath. . . . If there were only one of them, he would be entitled not only to his honest belief but to the exercise of that belief, so long as in so doing he did not interfere with some natural right of his neighbors. . . . Do the defendants in keeping the seventh day and working on the first thereby interfere with any natural right of their neighbors? Or is it an artificial right created by human law?