The most extraordinary part of Effingham, was its staggering number of churches. That is, among the Negroes. Notwithstanding the fact that the city was the resort of every escaped convict, and the city where every freed one headed for, which, of course, naturally made it the scene of excessive depravity, there was, apparently, a great amount of pious worship. Wyeth recalled, as he became better acquainted with the city and the people, that a year before, in a northern city, he had one day, gone to the library, where he found the directories of all cities of any significance. He was preparing a circular campaign, and, in going through the various directories, chanced to look through the part of those of the southern cities that had recorded the churches. Effingham had, according to an old one, almost a hundred Negro churches.
But, having digressed at some length, we will return now to Miss Palmer and Sidney Wyeth, preparing to spread intelligence among a people who greatly needed it.
"Sidewalks!" Miss Palmer exclaimed, in derision, "Lordy, they hardly have streets in some places!"
A few minutes later, they were sailing through the country—although it was counted as part of the city—to a town, a suburb, nine miles distant, a suburb of mills. "I used to sell toilet articles out there, on and right after pay days, and did quite well," said she, as the heavy car thundered along at a great rate of speed, for an inter-urban. "I am skeptical in regard to books, though, because these are 'bad' nigga's, with the exception of a precious few good ones."
They were just then passing through a district that was well kept, and apparently quiet. "We are now in a part of the town, where a large number of the better class of our people reside," she said, "and I am going to point out the homes of some of them."
"There is where Mr. Judson, paying teller at the Dime Savings Bank, lives." She pointed to a handsome bungalow, setting well back from the street, and surrounded by many young trees, with a well kept lawn upon three sides. "Now over there is where Paul Widner, contractor and builder, has his home." Following the direction of her finger, he was moved by the sumptuous and imposing structure that met his gaze. "That is the finest residence owned and occupied by one of our kind in the city," she said, with evident pride. "Still, though, here is Dr. Jackson's, which is almost as fine," and she pointed to another that was a credit. "He is the financial secretary of one of the church denominations of the south.
"See that long house over there?" she pointed to another. "That is Dr. Wayland's. He runs the drugstore."
"A preacher?"
"No; a pharmacist."
They were now in the wood, a deep forest with great trees all about, that darkened the inside of the car. The picked over and slim pines, mingled with large water oaks, rose gloomily against the heavy clouds that now rumbled ominously overhead. Before long, large drops of water began an intermittent patter on the car roof, while the windows were spat upon occasionally. And then, of a sudden, the very heavens seem to open, and the rain fell in torrents. Through it the heavy car pushed resolutely forward. The line was one recently completed, and facilitated travel between the city and the suburb wonderfully. Built of steel, the cars were long and heavy, with doors that opened near the center, allowing the colored passengers to enter on one side of the conductor, who operated the doors, from a convenient position near the furtherest side of the opening.