Hey Nasher, ever considered how city maps turned from hand‑drawn curiosities to algorithmic GPS is basically a grand puzzle? I came across a 1790 map of New York that had a compass error so big the city’s mayor had to redraw the entire block—classic misdirection that would make any strategist grin.

That one map even had a tiny inset of a village called “Cedar Point” that didn’t appear on any other charts of the time—probably a rumor of a mill that never got built. The map’s legend was written in a cipher only the mayor’s secret clerk could decode, so each street name was actually a double‑check against the city’s tax ledger. Turns out the clerk used a simple letter shift: “B” for “Broad,” “S” for “Shaft,” you could almost feel the old bureaucracy’s rhythm. It’s a neat reminder that even the past needed a touch of code to keep its streets straight.

Sure thing—turn my gaze to a 1743 map of Boston that had a tiny, almost invisible swastika‑like symbol tucked between the harbor and the Charles. Turns out it was the mark of the "Diligent Society," a clandestine group of merchants who used it to spot counterfeit coins. The symbol was a subtle nod to their motto, “Diligence Prevails.” It’s a reminder that even back then, cartographers played detective, hiding clues for those who knew how to read between the lines.