"Your pass!" shouted a grim-looking man, as she stepped, bag in hand,
with gentle dignity on the boat that was to take her across the stream
which divided slave territory from our free States. "Where's your pass?
Don't stand there staring at me," said the official, as the frightened
girl looked up as if for an explanation.

A pass! She had never once thought of that! No one had mentioned her
need of it. What was she to do? She looked confounded and terrified.

"No pass?" inquired the man, sternly. "'Tis easy enough to see
what YOU are, then. A runaway!" said he, turning to a man at his
right hand, "make her fast."

Frightened and trembling, Tidy tried to run, but it was of no use;
a strong hand seized her slender arm, and held her securely.
Then her sight seemed to fail her, she grew dizzy,
and fell fainting on the deck. A crowd gathered about her.
They remarked her light skin and delicate features, her ladylike
form and neat dress. Could she be a slave? they asked.
Would such a child as she appeared to be attempt to gain her liberty?
They dashed water on her head, and, as her consciousness returned,
she saw the faces of those two pleasant Scotch gentlemen,
who had rode with her the day before all the way from Virginia,
looking kindly and pitifully upon her.

"If you had only told us," they said, "we could have helped you."

But there was no friend or helper in that terrible hour, and poor Tidy,
weeping and almost heart-broken, was carried back to Baltimore,
and thrown into the SLAVE-JAIL.