Abstract
“Masters of the Land: Native Ship and Canal Building During the Spanish-Aztec War”
In February 1521, a caravan so grand
Of some 30,000 Native folk convened upon the land
In Tlaxcala’s great province for a mission most supreme.
(They marched across the forests and the mountains like a team.)
For four days, onward pressed they all, until at Tetzcoco’s shore
They arrived in late February, fulfilling what they bore.
The artificial waterway, complete by spring that year—
1521—would see warships soon appear.
Thus these vessels, once constructed, stood ready to deploy
In the final siege of Tenochtitlan, a fearsome ploy.
Although the brigantines have glowed in conquest lore,
(From “Spanish-Aztec War (1591–21),” though that may be a typographic score),
Their building and the canal essential to the plan
Are seldom dwelled upon by histories’ scanning span.
Likewise, the naval program’s rarely told in thorough style,
And the major role of Natives seldom features in the file.
Earliest sources from the conquest, authored by the foes—
The invaders—paid it little heed in what their text bestows.
The two conquistador-authors (Cortés and Bernal Díaz)
Were absent from the building site (so meager are ideas).
Sparse documentation’s left this story mostly glossed,
For four more centuries it stayed obscure, as though ’twere lost,
Till twentieth-century days, when C. Harvey Gardiner made
A thorough early chronicle from notes that had been laid
By the master shipwright, Martín López, in archives old.
That gave the first detailed account of what had once been told.
In centering the Natives in this naval enterprise,
This article aligns with “New Conquest History” (it implies).
Among the trending themes is how Indigenous allies
Extended Spanish power so their empire soon would rise.
For instance, Camilla Townsend wrote of Cortés’s dear Marina,
Who as Malintzin or Malinche changed the War’s arena,
Serving as translator, strategist, and ally close at hand—
A vital presence bridging two worlds none could understand.
Then Laura Matthew and Michel Oudijk, in a volume edited,
Explored how many Native folks (some soldiers, some credited
As non-combatants) aided conquests in Mesoamerican war,
And so this piece continues that tradition, digging more
Into the vital ways these local people gave their skill,
As porters, artisans, or spies who roamed beyond each hill,
As guides or cooks or translators, or warriors in a fight,
Who shaped the lengthy naval plan and helped it to ignite.
A crucial aspect of this enterprise that soared
Was more than just their labor; it was knowledge they outpoured.
For millennia, the Basin of Mexico’s folks had learned
To harness land and water with a wisdom they had earned.
From building dams and aqueducts to bridging watery bounds,
Their feats of engineering thrived across their native grounds.
When the naval program started (1520, by that date),
Their hydrological brilliance steered the building’s fate,
Ensuring that the warships and the canal, too, would succeed,
A testament to knowledge that the Natives chose to lead.
Such emphasis on Native skill stands stark against the style
Of older Atlantic histories that scorned them all the while.
Europe was deemed the center of invention and of grace,
With “knowledge” said to travel outward from that single place.
But now, this article upholds that viewpoint’s inexact,
Expanding on new scholarship to highlight as a fact
That Indigenous epistemologies, in sciences applied,
Proved indispensable, ensuring that their know-how could preside.
Thus the amphibious project, shaped by local ways and gear,
Displayed how knowledge synergy would banish doubt and fear.
The enterprise demanded many raw supplies be won,
With timber as essential as the sky requires the sun.
For cotton and for pitch to caulk the hulls in proper mode,
They’d also gather stone, to shore canal walls where they flowed,
And water sources close at hand to fill the channel’s bed.
Yet seldom do war histories speak of what environment bred—
How lakes or soils, or precipitation shaped each plan,
Or how these forces might have swayed the conquest of the land.
J. R. McNeill in Mosquito Empires showed across the seas
How insects bearing fevers vexed imperialities.
They stymied Dutch or British, then the French Napoleons,
But Mexico’s lake system, though perhaps a lesser scion
Of natural menace, also bore formidable might:
It ringed Tenochtitlan so the city stayed in sight
But rarely was accessible for conquering armies bold.
Thus warships turned essential, or so we now are told.
Hence timber served as crucial as a horse or sword or gun,
And proved a raw material that shaped how conquest’s done.
The environment, indeed—these lakes, these trees, this soil—
Influenced war decisions, planning, vantage, strife, and toil.
Not saying that environment alone would pick who’d win,
But humans (Natives) knew that synergy, and thus dug in,
Deploying their domain-savvy to harness local ground,
To shape the war and tilt events where victory might be found.
To reassemble Natives’ role in this aquatic scheme,
We rummage through the Spanish and Indigenous source stream.
Published glimpses lie in writings from Cortés and Diaz,
And in old colonial histories from Salazar or peers—
Francisco Cervantes de Salazar, plus Torquemada, too,
And the two Native historians: Chimalpahin’s view,
With Alva Ixtlilxochitl—both letting us behold
Those big events: from timber haul to how the ships took hold.
Their texts reveal the major feats in building all the boats,
They mention canal excavation, with minor anecdote notes,
But also they highlight Natives’ share in fueling that campaign,
Which thus expands our vantage on how the war was gained.
More archival sources from the early sixteenth tide
Help buttress or confirm these threads so data can abide.
One prime example: the “Interrogatorio” of 1565,
Compiled by people in Tlaxcala who set forth to contrive
A sworn deposition recollecting conquest’s day.
Though done four decades after all, with biases at play—
The elderly Spaniards, all aligned with Tlaxcalteca side,
The questions only asked of them and no one else beside—
It still grants us a window on canal and ship design.
Some details nowhere else appear, so we read between the line:
We weigh these testimonies with Bernal Diaz, or the voice
Of Cortés, or Alva Ixtlilxochitl, so we can rejoice
In how the data overlap or differ, searching for the truth,
Which, read together, yields a storyline that’s couth.
Thus the Natives’ role emerges with dimension that is new,
But first, we must contextualize how Spain’s incursion grew.
On February 10 of 1519, with bold soul,
Hernando Cortés left Cuba’s shores in search of his new goal.
He bore eleven ships, a band of men (five hundred strong),
Sixteen horses, pressing forward, sense of conquest running long.
The governor of Cuba, Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar,
Had told him not to conquer, only trade, observe afar.
Whether Cortés intended to obey is up for guess;
In any case, he soon rebelled, propelled by lust for success.
He heard of Tenochtitlan’s wealth, that city in the Vale,
A seat of Aztec might and gold that beckoned to regale.
He pressed inland with his retinue (some loyal, some annoyed)
And garnered help from states oppressed or thoroughly deployed
As tributaries to the Mexica or Aztec domain.
These local foes of Tenochtitlan joined up, their wrath made plain.
Thus Spanish plus the Natives marched, approaching that proud seat,
Arriving in November 1519’s beat.
The Aztec emperor (huey tlahtoani) known as Montezuma,
Faced these strangers—did he fight them or else greet them in a puma’s
Ferocious style? Instead he welcomed them inside,
A puzzling step that historians to this day still can’t abide.
The Spanish occupation soon proved tense: a deadly fuss,
As Tenochtitlan’s folk or their allies caused a plus
Of friction, culminating in departure under stress.
By July 1520, the Spaniards’ power was less.
They limped to refuge in Tlaxcala, nursing all their wounded men,
They took some months to gather strength and plan their push again.
No cavalry could function well on Tenochtitlan’s causeways,
And Mexica canoes reigned supreme if water played a phase.
So how to conquer that aquatic fortress ringed by lake?
Control the water was the key, to edge out the Aztec stake.
In September 1520, Cortés told shipwright López wise
To build a naval squadron to secure the watery prize.
Meanwhile, the rest prepared for siege with stockpiled goods in store,
Eliminating threats around the Valley all the more.
By April 28, in 1521’s new spring sun,
A mass of Spanish-Indigenous allies had begun
Their final gather at Lake Texcoco, launching the assault.
Three months of savage siege ensued, and in the final vault,
By August 13, Tenochtitlan fell, its might undone.
While many pages have been penned about those battles spun,
This article instead will show the stepping stones required
Between autumn 1520 and spring’s date so oft admired,
When ships, canal, and all the rest were shaped by Native hands—
An epic feat that shaped the war and redefined these lands.
At least formally, it all began in September 1520’s day,
When Cortés told Martín López: “To Tlaxcala, on your way—
Collect the timber for these ships we’ll haul across the plain!”
Though daring was the notion, it did not spring from Cortés’s brain.
In 1502, the “Gran Capitán,” Gonzalo so renowned—
Fernández de Córdoba—had used such tactics once, we’ve found,
Attacking Italy’s Taranto, a lakeside city fair,
Reminiscent of Tenochtitlan’s watery thoroughfare.
When Martín López made his way to Tlaxcala’s domain,
In late September, local folk escorted him with train
Into the wooded forests on Matlalcueitl’s slope,
(We call that La Malinche now) for trees that gave them hope.
For centuries, inhabitants had cultivated there:
Oak, evergreen oak, and pine—wood strong beyond compare.
Once sawed and trimmed, these timbers left the forest-laden glade,
Shouldered by Indigenous tameme, in a mighty masquerade,
Who bore them out to Río Zahuapan near Tlaxcala’s place,
Upstream from the city walls, they marched at steady pace.
Their presence proves that from the start, these Native aides so strong
Were pivotal and central, making Spanish labor long
Less burdensome, for truly, they supplied the muscle core,
Executing backbreaking tasks and hefting timbers o’er.
Meanwhile, as timber took shape in Tlaxcala’s busy hum,
Cortés dispatched some Spaniards to Veracruz to come
And fetch important gear he’d seized before from ships he’d burned,
When he scuttled his own vessels so that none of them returned
To Cuba with Velázquez’s men. Their sails, nails, rigging, all
Lay waiting off in Veracruz, he’d need them for this call.
At some time in December 1520, Cortés made it plain:
“Retrieve those maritime supplies and haul them back again.”
Because it was the winter, dryness shrank the Zahuapan flow,
So brigantines could scarcely float along its shallow row.
They had to build a dam of earth, to raise the water’s height—
Gardiner notes they did this near Tizatlán, out of sight,
A small community upstream, with López in command,
Directing how that water blockade flooded all the land.
In sum, the dam worked perfectly: the river’s depth now soared,
So nearly flat-bottomed hulls (two feet or so aboard)
Could sail without a snag or hitch. Once tested and passed muster,
They were dismantled, bound for land, in quiet, careful cluster,
Prepared to trek to Tetzcoco, their new Spanish HQ base.
(See Figure 3 in references for glimpses of that space.)
Why Tetzcoco got selected is not spelled out crystal clear,
But likely they preferred a lakeside vantage point so near
That they could strike by land and water, starve Tenochtitlan well.
And Tetzcoco, in the eastern shore’s domain, was large to dwell,
Could house supplies, feed Spanish troops for months of preparation.
It also lay more distant from the Aztec stronghold station
Than western or southern lakeside towns, a buffer safe enough—
A vantage for a shipyard where the Mexica’s raids were tough.
Indeed, the Mexica tried to burn these hulls in brazen ploys;
By building well inland, the Spanish thwarted savage noise.
With winter’s end approaching, the first phase nearly done—
For five months, Native workers plus the Spaniards strove as one,
Ensuring all the lumber had been marked, cut, sized, and shaped,
A tedious labor, but the greatest challenge still escaped:
They must haul prefab vessels from Tlaxcala’s forest glen
To Tetzcoco, and with canal-dig, outdo their mortal ken.
This might have been the greatest feat in that entire fight,
Or so the chroniclers attest, for sure it was no slight.
When February (1521) time arrived to move the crafts,
At least 8,000 Native tameme from local staffs—
Tlaxcala, Huejotzingo, Cholula—raised the logs,
The ironwork, sails, anchors, rigging for these water dogs.
Another 2,000 Native folks lugged foodstuffs, so the train
Could feed that giant caravan crossing hill and plain.
And then a force of 20,000 local fighting men
From Tlaxcala’s prime warriors secured them in their den.
In total, over 30,000 souls advanced in columns grand,
A line that stretched six miles or more to Tetzcoco’s demand.
They crossed the boundary of Tetzcoco; the company so grand
Paraded through the city in a brilliant, festive stand.
Díaz del Castillo watched the Tlaxcalteca arrive:
With drum and trumpet echoing, their ranks appeared alive,
Dressed in finest panoply, half a day to funnel in,
Shouting “Viva! Castile and Tlaxcala!” midst the din.
Cortés himself reports the convoy took another six more hours
Before the rear had reached the front and joined the base’s powers.
In Figure 5, you’ll note that Natives outnumber Spaniards four to one,
They’re central to the image, each with hatchet shining sun.
Though not an exact ratio, it clarifies the role:
Indigenous shipyard workers formed the project’s vital soul.
They stood there in the center as the focus of the frame,
Suggesting they were paramount to how these ships became
A fleeting dream to actual hulls. At least that’s how the scribe
Or artist saw their central place, that core of labor’s vibe.
As building neared completion, local products held the key,
Like pitch, the sticky substance used to waterproof at sea,
And cotton, needed swiftly in sufficient, vast supply.
The Natives’ knowledge of trade routes let them quickly buy
The fiber from Mesoamerican provinces galore,
Ensuring that no time was lost, that all progressed once more.
Thus Native skill in gathering goods sped up the project pace,
So nothing halted their timeline or caused a snail’s slow race.
While ships were being built, another plan took shape apace:
They dug a 9,100-foot canal, requiring grace,
So these landlocked hulls could float on out to Lake Texcoco’s tide.
Ixtlilxochitl, Tetzcoco’s lord, served as the project guide
(See Figure 6 for context). Allied with Cortés, he stood
As leader of the effort in his Tetzcocan neighborhood.
We find no Spaniard claiming they performed the engineering—
All signs suggest the Tetzcocans did the planning and the steering.
They likely chose the route, oversaw the excavation’s might,
Directed how to line the walls, ensuring all was tight.
Their region excelled in waterworks, from dikes to causeways set,
Aqueducts and sluice gates soared in fifteenth-century net.
Hence building such a channel was no puzzling ask at all—
They knew the lake-laced terrain by heart, no challenge to enthrall.
First, they had to pick a place. That might have come to mind
By analyzing slopes and soils of a certain kind.
They had to deepen stream beds to create a path for ships,
But lumps of rock and stone would hamper any digging trips.
They couldn’t just go round them all, they’d haul them out or bust
Them into smaller pieces with picks or mallets’ thrust.
Considering the length (9,100 feet) they had to clear,
The job loomed monstrous—any digger must have quaked in fear.
Labor-wise, the daily shifts of 8,000–10,000 men
(For fifty days straight) accomplished wonders time and again.
But we shouldn’t hail Ixtlilxochitl alone with praise so strong,
He ruled the province broadly, and he couldn’t stay too long
In one place, so local overseers took up the daily chore,
Communicating methods from the canal’s side or floor,
While diggers toiled to shift the earth, aware their time was short,
Each one compelled to finish fast, for war was at the port.
Thus the entire process was collaborative in style,
With tlahtoani, foremen, laborers in lines for many a mile.
Their feats were not just digging: all that soil had to go
Somewhere, forming embankments to keep water in the flow.
Plus stakes and stones to line the canal, so watery seepage
Wouldn’t drain away. The Natives had the knowledge to engage
Such tasks, from centuries controlling lake and watery land.
Spaniards, from drier provinces, might not quite understand.
Nor was it only diggers: interpretive tasks were due,
Translators bridging Spanish tongues with local workers too,
And cooks who’d feed the 8,000–10,000 daily crews,
(Quite often that involved Indigenous women who paid their dues.)
Malintzin might have stepped in so instructions made it through:
How planks fit, how guns got mounted, what each worker had to do.
Native combatants also helped repel Mexica raids,
Preventing sabotage by foes in cunning escapades.
Without them, ships might well be burned, the schedule cast astray,
Yet in the end, by late April 1521, all was okay.
With brigantines completed, and the canal carved deep,
They faced one final puzzle: how to raise the water’s heap?
In April’s dryness, rivers shrink, so shallow flows remain.
To float those hulls the distance, they required a watery gain.
Thus they erected dams—12 total—in strategic spots along
The 1.73-mile channel, a watery throng.
Releasing them in sequence forced a sudden rushing tide,
Which raised the canal’s water height so vessels could then glide
Toward Lake Texcoco’s open realm. Tetzcocans knew the scene,
In building such embankments they excelled, keen and serene,
Having grown around these lacustrine pockets all their lives,
While Spaniards, fewer in number, busied themselves and thrived
On other siege preparations. So Tetzcocans oversaw
The dam construction, harnessing the watery land by law.
When those 12 embankments stood, they tethered ships in place,
Then opened each dam’s barrier, unleashing speed apace.
Cervantes de Salazar records how tricky was the throw:
They feared the current’s fury might dash hulls below
Or cause them to collide. If any brigantine should crack,
They’d spent eight months for nothing, halting conquest in its track.
Hence on April 28, the watchers gathered ’round,
Spanish and Natives alike, on lakeshore’s edge of ground.
They prayed and said a mass, Friar Olmedo came to bless
Each ship with holy water, asking Mary for success.
When signaled to release the dam, the vessels roared in might,
Using some “inventions” to ensure they stayed upright,
They dropped into the canal in turn and glided to the lake,
So none were harmed—this sealed the war’s amphibious stake.
These ships achieved three critical ends: they gave the Spanish force
Mobility upon the lake to land troops at the source
Of strategic vantage points around that watery ring,
They magnified artillery (cannon from decks could sting),
And they established a blockade to starve the Aztec seat,
Cutting Tenochtitlan’s supplies for water, food, or meat.
Colonial and modern scribes have hailed their potent role,
But so did those who fought, or soared, or lost in conquest’s toll:
In the 1565 interrogatory from Tlaxcala’s band,
Each witness said the brigantines were among the major stands
That overcame Tenochtitlan. “Los dichos vergantines,”
One swore, “were chief among the reasons for the city’s final scenes.”
That both sides recognized it underscores the crucial note:
These ships, and thus their building, were the war’s most weighty boat.
In 1875, Texcoco’s municipal domain
Unveiled an obelisk, 15 feet tall, to mark the campaign
Of launching brigantines in 1521, still known
As “Puente de los Bergantines” (see Figure 9 that’s shown).
Built near the spot where folks believe the ships were sent to sea,
It bears a plaque up top, proclaiming simply that Cortés (April 5, 1521)
Launched those war vessels triumphantly.
Yet thousands of Natives, in that winter and that spring,
Had built 13 ships and a canal to conquer the Aztec king.
The plaque omits that Native hands enabled all of this;
We won’t fault those who built the monument, for knowledge was amiss—
At that time, Native records lay undiscovered, so the rest
Of conquest lore was incomplete; few knew the Natives’ zest.
Even now, the naval epic of 1520–21
Remains obscure, especially how the Native roles were done.
This article has aimed to bring that story back to light—
Too often, Spanish folks alone receive the glory bright.
The truth is that their allies—Culhuacan, Chalco too,
Cholula, Huejotzingo, Tetzcoco, Tlaxcala’s retinue—
Joined forces, cutting trees, sawing timbers, carving wood,
Transporting logs, assembling planks, to forge this navy good.
Such labor was essential, but we also must behold
How Indigenous knowledge of environment took its bold
Position, letting them design canal and choose the place,
Lining walls, erecting embankments, or fortifying space.
They spent long ages in the Basin, gleaning watery science there,
So when Cortés said “Build me ships!”, they labored without despair.
Hence it’s this synergy of local skill and manpower’s gift
That made these Native folks the “Masters” of that naval shift.
And as for Texcoco’s monument, from 1875,
It still endures on Calle Juárez Sur, though passersby may strive
To glean its meaning in the sprawl, overshadowed by modern gloom.
But we who read these records see how, once, in that same room,
They built the brigs and dug the ditch that sealed Tenochtitlan’s doom.
With knowledge, might, and synergy, those Natives changed the tide—
They formed the conquest’s heart and soul, whatever books confide.
(End of Lossless Seuss-Style Translation. No details omitted.)