Bill Burchard jerked his head up and peered quizzically from among the cornstalks. What was that noise? He pushed a crumpled blue bandana slowly across his brow and then stood scanning the underbrush 40 yards away.
Seeing nothing, he moved to the next stalk and ripped the blades off. His family of seven had long since consumed the last of the corn, and now, early in September 1894, he was salvaging the blades to feed his scrawny cow.
Burchard worked five days a week in the Dayton Coal and Iron Mine. He ascended from the brutal bowels of the earth to go to church on Saturday, and this schedule left Sunday as his only day to catch up on work around his home.
He straightened up again. He had heard something. A screeching jay betrayed two men about to disappear over a low ridge.
Burchard thought nothing more about the incident until one evening a week or two later when he came home to find Sheriff Darwin sitting on his front stoop. The sheriff rose slowly as Burchard approached.
“Help ya ‘t all, Sheriff?” Burchard asked.
Darwin looked down, slipping the four fingers of each hand into his front pockets.
“I’m sorry, Bill,” he mumbled, “but I got to take ya in.”
“Take me in!” Burchard’s face paled in shock, even under the layer of coal dust. “But what in the world for?”
“Here,” said the sheriff, slipping a long folded piece of paper out from under his vest, “listen to this.”
“State of Tennessee, To the Sheriff of Rhea County, Greeting: You are hereby commanded to take the body of William S. Burchard, if found in your county, and him safely keep, so that you have him before the judge of our Circuit Court . . . at the Courthouse in the town of Dayton, on the first Monday in March next, then and there to answer the state for violating Sabbath. Herein fail not. . . . C. G. Gillespie, Clerk.”
By the time Burchard finally returned home, he understood what his two secretive visitors had been doing that Sunday.
Burchard lived four and a half miles from Graysville, Tennessee, in a little valley called the Cove. In Graysville, a town of 600, about 20 percent of the town kept the seventh-day Sabbath. The religious community had built up around Graysville Academy, a school begun two years earlier by a Sabbath- keeping minister named G. W. Colcord. (The school was later moved and grew into what is now known as Southern Adventist University near Chattanooga.)
Not only Burchard but also Colcord and two of the Academy teachers, along with several other Sabbathkeepers, were under indictment for violating Tennessee’s Sunday law. Burchard was charged on two counts—stripping fodder and helping to dig a well on Sunday. Others were charged with such crimes as putting chicken wire around a garden or carrying a few boards.
The trials made it obvious that the chief instigator of the trouble was an angry coal miner named Wright Rains, who had been refused credit by the Sabbath-keeping proprietor of a local grocery store. Two of his friends had slipped out of the services in their Sunday church, just over the ridge from Burchard’s cabin, to spy on him.
For more than 15 years, Sabbathkeepers had been subjected to sporadic persecution for Sunday-law violations in various states. They believed at the time that to rest on Sunday was an admission of Sunday’s sacredness. They believed that that would be giving in to a false system of worship.