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Betsey pumped with her legs until the swing traveled in such a large arc that it felt like her face was touching the sky. This was her favorite playground, 3 long blocks from home and right on the waterfront. From here she could swing into the sky or stare out at the dazzling water.

There was always something to see in the busy port with the giant container ships coming and going and the huge, long barges carrying everything from cement to scrap metal. And the tugboats! Betsey loved the little tugboats. Up close, they really weren’t so little. It was just that next to those large, lumbering ships they looked small.

Once the mammoth container ships or barges enter the narrow and trafficked lanes of the bustling port, their size becomes a handicap and their huge engines react too slowly to cope safely with all the traffic. Docking these ships, the length of two football fields, requires a precision measured in inches. One mistake in navigating the busy port and they might collide with another vessel or rip out a pier.

That’s where the tugboats come in. Small and powerful, they can scoot around the port, pulling and pushing vessels many times their weight and size, guiding them through the hubub until they are safely docked. It seemed to Betsey that small or not, tugboats had the biggest job of all.

Betsey was looking out over the shining water from her swing when the port erupted with noise. Bells, whistles and horns were sounding from every direction and the tugboats headed towards a freighter. She could read the name Columbia on the rusty hull.

That’s when she realized what was happening! The Columbia was drifting toward the supports of the busy Branston Point Bridge! The engines must have failed! She saw a tugboat pull up along side and the tug captain grab the rope ladder and clamber up and onto the Columbia. Betsey knew he would be the one calling the shots from here on out.

Adrift and gaining momentum, the 60,000-ton Columbia could not change course without its engines. The empty freighter, riding high on the water, was easily pushed forward by a strong wind and the current. It was less than a hundred yards now from the concrete pillars. The commuters on the bridge high above had no idea of the growing risk below.

The Columbia sounded its horn in warning to other ships. The tugboat captain must have started radioing instructions from the Columbia’s bridge because all the tugboats began to maneuver. 70 feet below the freighter’s bridge, the tugs began to churn up huge gushers of white water. Their lines had already been hooked up to the freighter and the immediate task was to break the ship’s forward motion to keep it from hitting the Branston Point Bridge supports. If they could slow it down, the tugboats could then direct it towards the main channel.

Betsey could tell that the instructions were coming fast and furious because the tugboats were all sounding their acknowledgements. One tooted its whistle while another blew its horn and a third sounded a beeping siren. Steadily pulling back on the immense freighter, they managed to slow it down. Some tugboats started pulling the ship away from the bridge supports and into the main navigation channel, while others gave the Columbia a powerful shove on its other side. Betsey couldn’t believe her eyes! It was working. The large ship was slowly turning away from the massive bridge supports!

The powerful tugboats continued their frantic push and pull, churning water and revving engines. They fought the wind, currents, and momentum, trying to direct the Columbia in its course. The tugboat with its shoulder already to the big ship’s far side, gave it an extra push, both engines thrumming with the effort.

Betsey jumped off the swing and ran to the railing overlooking the port. The Columbia was moving into the main channel, inching as slowly as a glacier, but clearly in the right direction. Betsey realized she’d been holding her breath. Breathing easier, she watched the tugboats maneuver the Columbia into a nearby dock. From her vantage point, Betsey could see the Columbia’s bridge. The freighter’s captain was gratefully shaking the hand of the tugboat pilot who had taken charge.

Betsey ran home with the sights and sounds of the rescue still jangling about her. And you can bet that when she breathlessly told the story, the tugboats were the heroes of the day.