It must be noted by the modern observer that what we see here is a map of unusually good accuracy considering the charting talents of the early 17th century. However, the Dutch mariners of that time were patrolling the sea lanes and bays and rivers of the eastern North American continent in their sturdy ships, having the trust of the English colonists that they were here in Virginia, not to conquer, but only to trade.

And in the long run, they understood that the trading vessel captains of their nation were going to make better profits from journeys all up and down the coastal region of English North America IF and almost ONLY IF they had accurate charts and maps of the bays, inlets, as well as the wide mouthed "Chesapeake Bay Rivers’, along with the waters more fitting to the usual definition, which have a flow that transitions from fresh, to brackish and finally saline water at the ocean-end-mouth. The James or Powhatan River was such a body of water, along with three others in the Colony: the York, the Rappahannock, and the Potomack, which would later lose the ‘k’ and yet gain a National Capital.

Accurate charting was a way of giving an edge to a trader captain with solid wisdom and good sense. He would be able to use the chart to make many of his decisions on any sailing-trading voyage, during which he would be expected by the owners/investors/transporters of and in his ship to make a long series of intelligently attained decisions which would maximize the profitability of the entire trip. In western Europe, after the Reformation was well under way, men of means and landed gentry were forming up the first ‘corporations’; the legal entities that enabled them to invest in very risky adventures concerning trade ships and rum, and sugar, and human chattel, while preventing the possible wiping out of inherited fortunes by a hurricane or a boatload of pirates.

Therefore, it was probably a Dutchman who first said, "Time is Money". In this process, the Captain had to know where he was at all times. to this day, if you walk onto the bridge of any United States Navy, Coast Guard or merchant vessel, there is a quartermaster present on duty who can tell you the exact location of the vessel in a matter of seconds, and tell you in terms of Latitude/Longitude, Universal Transverse Mercator, or any other reference system you might want to have it in…and no matter if the bridge is suffering an electrical shut-off.

The Dutch were sticklers for accuracy. They had to be. Ships that have run aground and sunk to the bottom of a river or bay are not making any Money; they are costing Money. They are wiping out corporations of gentlemen who want to keep company with gentlewomen…. So this lovely little piece of the Vingboon Map is not just the work of art it has evolved into, it was an investment tool that will be keeping the 17th century ship captain safely on his way and the voyage quickly completed, and safely accomplished, and hence very PROFITABLE.

So it should not be taken lightly by the Modern that if you take a facsimile of this chart and place it over a window pane, then hold it there with 4 pieces of drafting tape, and then put over it a U. S. Coastal Survey Map that was scientifically charted by U. S. military academy graduates in the 1850’s, you will see an amazing amount of correspondence between the two charts…. except for one thing: the place called Bermuda Cittie has transformed into a settlement called City Point. In 1852, when the Coastal Survey crews came up the James from Hampton Roads with their triangulation network, City Point was:
1.a plantation owned by a Doctor Eppes, called Appomattox Manor,
2.and an Episcopal Church named Saint Paul’s, with a small graveyard to it’s south,
3.and some wharves along the eastern shore of the point,
4.that warranted a dock master, a ballast master, and an entourage of African-American longshoremen….BUT it was not exactly a ‘CITY’.

So, what happened to ‘Bermuda Cittie’? What was this ghostly settlement all about? Where did it go in the intervening 235 years? What is the full story of this historical mystery? Does the term ‘City Point’ on the 1852 Coastal Map contain a left-handed clue as to what has been going on here? Who or what killed, or dramatically shrank, this Bermuda Cittie ? : an English ‘governor’ of sorts?, a Native American massacre in 1622?, an ultra-violent river flood in 1771??

in the "Jamestown Narratives" we read:
The "chiefe Citty," when Hamor left, was not yet ready. Its construction, at a point across the Appomattox from Bermuda Hundred, while begun, was not pushed until the fall of 1614. Here Bermuda City was fashioned to be "an impregnable retreat, against any forraign invasion, how powerfull so ever." This became the fourth and last of the public, or general, corporations taking its place with James City, Kecoughtan, and Henrico. Within a few years its name would change from Bermuda to Charles City to honor Prince Charles as Henrico had been named for Prince Henry his brother, both being royal sons. Hamor, in 1614, spoke of "Bermuda Citty," evidently meaning to include Bermuda Hundred as well, as "a business of greatest hope, ever begunne in our territories their." At the same time he mentions the special "pattent," or agreement, made between Dale and the people there, "termes and conditions they voluntarily have undertaken."

When Dale assigned small parcels of ground to planters for [Pg 64] their own use prior to, or in, 1613, he did much for the Colony. It stopped some of the drain on the common "magazine" and allowed room for individual profit and enterprise. It also freed the colonists from Company service except in emergencies and for one month a year. In making this arrangement, however, he excepted the Bermuda Incorporation people with whom he made a special contract. They were bound to three years of almost continuous public service in the Bermuda City project "before they have their freedom." At the end of their term, however, they claimed their rights of freedom and the Governor, then Samuel Argall, could not deny their claim. On November 30, 1617, he reported in reply to the "citizens of Bermuda hund[red]" that he would "not infringe their rights being a member of that City himself" but begged that the Colony servants "may stay their this year." Evidently these Bermuda people began to enjoy the rights and freedoms that did not become general until the Company division and "Greate Charter" which evolved in 1618 and 1619.

The center of gravity in the Colony in the 1611-16 period was upriver in the Henrico and Bermuda City area. In Rolfe’s report of 1616 "Bermuda Nether Hundred" was by far the most active and most heavily populated area. Its 119 people was much in excess of the 50 at Jamestown which stood second among the 6 populated points. Bermuda’s population then embraced chiefly the members of the Corporation although there were 17 "farmers" and a few "who labor generally for the Colony, amongst whom, some make pitch and Tarr, Pott-ashes, Chark-coale, and other workes, and are maintayned by the magazin, but are not of the Corporation." Capt. George Yeardley, who was deputy governor and deputy marshal, "for the most part" lived here as did Alexander Whitaker who had the "ministerall chardge."

The "Cities of Henrico & Charles [Bermuda]" were the best fortified points in the Colony standing "upon high ground the cliffes beinge steepe but of a claye mould the ayre good and [Pg 65] wholesome." Also "about those places [there were] good quantities of cleared groundes." Fortifications were by "trench and pallizado" with "great timber" blockhouses athwart "passages and for scouring the pallizadoes." There, too, was "access to shipping."

Much official business was transacted here where the Governor was in residence much of the time. Courts, on occasion, convened here and official proclamations and documents were issued from the hand of various governors and from the pen of the Colony’s secretary. Such was the commission to William Cradock made "provost marshall of Bermuda City and of all the Hundred thereto belonging" from Samuel Argall "Admirall and for the time present principal Governor of Virginia" issued at "Bermuda City" on February 20, 1618 over John Rolfe’s signature as "Secretary and Recorder."

It appears to have been Argall that did much to return the emphasis to Jamestown and away from Bermuda. In 1617 he wrote that he preferred Jamestown and proposed to strengthen it as a good healthy site. Charles City remained active, however, and the largest seat in the Colony. In 1619 Samuel Sharpe and Samuel Jordan represented the Bermuda area in the Assembly. It is not known whether they voted for the measure that required all persons from Charles City and other points who were going down river below the Capital to touch "first here at James Citty to knowe whether the Governor will command him any service." By this time Bermuda Hundred and Bermuda City were most often designated "Charles City and Hundred."

It was in 1621 that the Company undertook to establish and build the East India School and to locate this "free schoole in Virginia" at Charles City. A grant of 1,000 acres was set aside and a few workmen were sent to the Colony. For a time it looked as if this center to encourage the "rudiments of learning" and "principles of Religion, civility of life, and humane learning" would materialize. It did not, however, survive the massacre. When the workmen reached Virginia, they were placed among [Pg 66] the College tenants and later transferred to Martin’s Hundred.

The massacre of 1622 appeared to have been devastating in the Bermuda area and led to its temporary abandonment. The list of those killed is, however, rather light in comparison with settlements such as Martin’s Hundred. There were twenty-seven at four specified points. It leads one to doubt that a full list of names was submitted.

Thought soon turned to a repair of the damages. It was judged "very necessarie to raise new workes especiallie at Henrico & Charles Citty" which according to one report were "utterlie demolished by the Indians." This destruction, at least some of it, followed the abandonment of the posts. Houses were burned and "poultry, hoggs, cowes, goates, and horses" were killed in number "to the greate griefe as well as ruine of the olde inhabitants…."

There was a return to the land in some large measure after the massacre. In 1624 a list of 41 residents was given for "the Neck of Land" in Charles City Corporation and the census of 1625 showed 44 in this old Bermuda Hundred area. In 1624 Luke Boys and Thomas Harris sat in the Assembly at Jamestown and may have helped to enact the measure that required "courtes [to be] kept once a moneth in the Corporations of Charles Cittie & Elizabeth Cittie" to handle cases involving petty offenses and sums up to 100 pounds of tobacco. The muster of January 24, 1625 shows the "Neck-of-Land" to have been very well established. Its 44 people had 16 houses and good supplies of corn, fish, livestock, poultry and arms. In May, 1625, ten individual grants (ranging from 50 to 1,150 acres and totaling 2,900) were listed as located here in addition to the corporation and common land.

“…. People say they love a lot of things, but they really don’t. It’s just a word that’s been overused. When you put your life on the line for somebody, that’s love. But you’ll never know it until you’re in the moment. When someone will die for you, that’s love, too.”

Bob Dylan, in interview with Mikal Gilmore, excerpted from Rolling Stone magazine, Issue No. 1166, September 27, 2012
“…. People say they love a lot of things, but they really don’t. It’s just a word that’s been overused. When you put your life on the line for somebody, that’s love. But you’ll never know it until you’re in the moment. When someone will die for you, that’s love, too.”

Bob Dylan, in interview with Mikal Gilmore, excerpted from Rolling Stone magazine, Issue No. 1166, September 27, 2012


Subject: Burial At Sea
Powerful stuff. Please take time to read all of this. I wish each American could read this one. I feel too many of us fail to grasp what our young troops have done for us for so long, the freedoms they have protected for us. To only those who would and could appreciate it. This account is one of a kind…a powerful one that touches your heart. Read this slowly and to the end. Tough duty then as it is now.

Burial at Sea” by LtCol George Goodson, USMC (Ret)
In my 76th year, the events of my life appear to me, from time to time, as a series of vignettes. Some were significant; most were trivial.
War is the seminal event in the life of everyone that has endured it. Though I fought in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded there, Vietnam was my war.
Now 37 years have passed and, thankfully, I rarely think of those days in Cambodia , Laos , and the panhandle of North Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montangards fought much larger elements of the North Vietnamese Army. Instead I see vignettes: some exotic, some mundane:
*The smell of Nuc Mam.
*The heat, dust, and humidity.
*The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets.
*Elephants moving silently through the tall grass.
*Hard eyes behind the servile smiles of the villagers.
*Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar.
*A young girl squeezing my hand as my medic delivered her baby.
*The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao.
*My two years as Casualty Notification Officer in North Carolina , Virginia , and Maryland .
It was late 1967. I had just returned after 18 months in Vietnam . Casualties were increasing. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk , rented a house, enrolled my children in their fifth or sixth new school, and bought a second car.
A week later, I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated before entering my new office. Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer, if ever, a poster Marine. I had returned from my third tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At 5’9″, I now weighed 128 pounds – 37 pounds below my normal weight. My uniforms fit ludicrously, my skin was yellow from malaria medication, and I think I had a twitch or two.
I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office, looked at the nameplate on a Staff Sergeant’s desk and said, “Sergeant Jolly, I’m Lieutenant Colonel Goodson. Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket.”
Sergeant Jolly stood, looked carefully at me, took my orders, stuck out his hand; we shook and he asked, “How long were you there, Colonel?” I replied “18 months this time.” Jolly breathed, “Jesus, you must be a slow learner Colonel.” I smiled.
Jolly said, “Colonel, I’ll show you to your office and bring in the Sergeant Major. I said, “No, let’s just go straight to his office.”
Jolly nodded, hesitated, and lowered his voice, “Colonel, the Sergeant Major. He’s been in this G*dd@mn job two years. He’s packed pretty tight. I’m worried about him.” I nodded.
Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major’s office. “Sergeant Major, this is Colonel Goodson, the new Commanding Office. The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand and said, “Good to see you again, Colonel.” I responded, “Hello Walt, how are you?” Jolly looked at me, raised an eyebrow, walked out, and closed the door.
I sat down with the Sergeant Major. We had the obligatory cup of coffee and talked about mutual acquaintances. Walt’s stress was palpable.
Finally, I said, “Walt, what’s the h-ll’s wrong?” He turned his chair, looked out the window and said, “George, you’re going to wish you were back in Nam before you leave here.. I’ve been in the Marine Corps since 1939. I was in the Pacific 36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months. Now I come here to bury these kids. I’m putting my letter in. I can’t take it anymore.” I said, “OK Walt. If that’s what you want, I’ll endorse your request for retirement and do what I can to push it through Headquarters Marine Corps.”
Sergeant Major Walt Xxxxx retired 12 weeks later. He had been a good Marine for 28 years, but he had seen too much death and too much suffering. He was used up.
Over the next 16 months, I made 28 death notifications, conducted 28 military funerals, and made 30 notifications to the families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Most of the details of those casualty notifications have now, thankfully, faded from memory. Four, however, remain.
MY FIRST NOTIFICATION My third or fourth day in Norfolk , I was notified of the death of a 19 year old Marine. This notification came by telephone from Headquarters Marine Corps. The information detailed:
*Name, rank, and serial number.
*Name, address, and phone number of next of kin.
*Date of and limited details about the Marine’s death.
*Approximate date the body would arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
*A strong recommendation on whether the casket should be opened or closed.
The boy’s family lived over the border in North Carolina , about 60 miles away. I drove there in a Marine Corps staff car. Crossing the state line into North Carolina , I stopped at a small country store / service station / Post Office. I went in to ask directions.
Three people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post Office window. The man held a package. The Storeowner walked up and addressed them by name, “Hello John . Good morning Mrs. Cooper.”
I was stunned. My casualty’s next-of-kin’s name was John Cooper !
I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, “I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. John Copper of (address.)
The father looked at me-I was in uniform – and then, shaking, bent at the waist, he vomited. His wife looked horrified at him and then at me.
Understanding came into her eyes and she collapsed in slow motion. I think I caught her before she hit the floor.
The owner took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer and handed it to Mr. Cooper who drank. I answered their questions for a few minutes. Then I drove them home in my staff car. The storeowner locked the store and followed in their truck. We stayed an hour or so until the family began arriving.
I returned the storeowner to his business. He thanked me and said, “Mister, I wouldn’t have your job for a million dollars.” I shook his hand and said; “Neither would I.”
I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk . Violating about five Marine Corps regulations, I drove the staff car straight to my house. I sat with my family while they ate dinner, went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night, alone.
My Marines steered clear of me for days. I had made my first death notification.
THE FUNERALS Weeks passed with more notifications and more funerals.. I borrowed Marines from the local Marine Corps Reserve and taught them to conduct a military funeral: how to carry a casket, how to fire the volleys and how to fold the flag.
When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or father, I always said, “All Marines share in your grief.” I had been instructed to say, “On behalf of a grateful nation.” I didn’t think the nation was grateful, so I didn’t say that.
Sometimes, my emotions got the best of me and I couldn’t speak. When that happened, I just handed them the flag and touched a shoulder.
They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, “I’m so sorry you have this terrible job.” My eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her.
ANOTHER NOTIFICATION Six weeks after my first notification, I had another. This was a young PFC. I drove to his mother’s house. As always, I was in uniform and driving a Marine Corps staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep breath, and walked towards the house. Suddenlythe door flew open, a middle-aged woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard, screaming “NO! NO! NO! NO!”
I hesitated. Neighbors came out. I ran to her, grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to reassure her. She collapsed. I picked her up and carried her into the house. Eight or nine neighbors followed. Ten or fifteen later, the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I have no recollection of leaving.
The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly.
ANOTHER NOTIFICATION One morning, as I walked in the office, the phone was ringing. Sergeant Jolly held the phone up and said, “You’ve got another one, Colonel.” I nodded, walked into my office, picked up the phone, took notes, thanked the officer making the call, I have no idea why, and hung up. Jolly, who had listened, came in with a special Telephone Directory that translates telephone numbers into the person’s address and place of employment.
The father of this casualty was a Longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman’s Union Office and asked for the Business Manager. He answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father’s schedule.
The Business Manager asked, “Is it his son?” I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice, “Tom is at home today.” I said, “Don’t call him. I’ll take care of that.” The Business Manager said, “Aye, Aye Sir,” and then explained, “Tom and I were Marines in WWII.”
I got in my staff car and drove to the house. I was in uniform. I knocked and a woman in her early forties answered the door. I saw instantly that she was clueless. I asked, “Is Mr. Smith home?” She smiled pleasantly and responded, “Yes, but he’s eating breakfast now. Can you come back later?” I said, “I’m sorry. It’s important, I need to see him now.”
She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and said, “Tom, it’s for you.”
A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties, appeared at the door. He looked at me, turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, “Jesus Christ man, he’s only been there three weeks!”
Months passed. More notifications and more funerals. Then one day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the building and gave a loud whistle, two fingers in his mouth…. I never could do that… and held an imaginary phone to his ear.
Another call from Headquarters Marine Corps. I took notes, said, “Got it.” and hung up. I had stopped saying “Thank You” long ago.
Jolly, “Where?”
Me, “Eastern Shore of Maryland . The father is a retired Chief Petty Officer. His brother will accompany the body back from Vietnam .”
Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then said, “This time of day, it’ll take three hours to get there and back. I’ll call the Naval Air Station and borrow a helicopter. And I’ll have Captain Tolliver get one of his men to meet you and drive you to the Chief’s home.”
He did, and 40 minutes later, I was knocking on the father’s door. He opened the door, looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car, and asked, “Which one of my boys was it, Colonel?”
I stayed a couple of hours, gave him all the information, my office and home phone number and told him to call me, anytime.
He called me that evening about 2300 (11:00PM). “I’ve gone through my boy’s papers and found his will. He asked to be buried at sea. Can you make that happen?” I said, “Yes I can, Chief. I can and I will.”
My wife who had been listening said, “Can you do that?” I told her, “I have no idea. But I’m going to break my ass trying.”
I called Lieutenant General Alpha Bowser, Commanding General, Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330, explained the situation, and asked, “General, can you get me a quick appointment with the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters?” General Bowser said,” George, you be there tomorrow at 0900. He will see you.
I was and the Admiral did.. He said coldly, “How can the Navy help the Marine Corps, Colonel.” I told him the story. He turned to his Chief of Staff and said, “Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?” The Chief of Staff responded with a name.
The Admiral called the ship, “Captain, you’re going to do a burial at sea. You’ll report to a Marine Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is completed.”
He hung up, looked at me, and said, “The next time you need a ship, Colonel, call me. You don’t have to sic Al Bowser on my ass.” I responded, “Aye Aye, Sir” and got the h-ll out of his office.
I went to the ship and met with the Captain, Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief. Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship’s crew for four days.
Then Jolly raised a question none of us had thought of. He said, “These government caskets are air tight. How do we keep it from floating?”
All the high priced help including me sat there looking dumb. Then the Senior Chief stood and said, “Come on Jolly. I know a bar where the retired guys from World War II hang out.”
They returned a couple of hours later, slightly the worst for wear, and said, “It’s simple; we cut four 12″ holes in the outer shell of the casket on each side and insert 300 lbs of lead in the foot end of the casket. We can handle that, no sweat.”
The day arrived. The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp. General Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator, and a Navy Band were on board. The sealed casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. The ship got underway to the 12-fathom depth.
The sun was hot. The ocean flat. The casket was brought aft and placed on a catafalque. The Chaplin spoke. The volleys were fired. The flag was removed, folded, and I gave it to the father. The band played “Eternal Father Strong to Save.” The casket was raised slightly at the head and it slid into the sea.
The heavy casket plunged straight down about six feet. The incoming water collided with the air pockets in the outer shell. The casket stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water about three feet, stopped, and slowly slipped back into the sea. The air bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the in the sunlight as the casket disappeared from sight forever.
The next morning I called a personal friend, Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at Headquarters Marine Corps and said, “General, get me the f*ck out of here. I can’t take this sh_t anymore.” I was transferred two weeks later.
I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen too much death and too much suffering. I was used up.
Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the office in a two-car convoy. I said my goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with me. He waved at my family, looked at me with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said, “Well Done, Colonel. Well Done.”
I felt as if I had received the Medal of Honor!
That is all
Tags: Burial at Sea, George Goodson, Lt Col George Goodson USMC (Ret)



With Regret
Whitney Houston’s death, while a sad thing, was the direct result of very unwise life choices. It dominates the news.
Charlie Sheen is 45 and his story is all over the news because he is a substance abuser, an adulterer, sexually promiscuous and obnoxious.
Lindsay Lohan is 24 and her story is all over the news because she is a celebrity drug addict and thief.
Something as frivolous as Kim Kardashian’s stupid wedding [and short-lived marriage] was shoved down our throats.

Justin Allen, 23
Brett Linley, 29
Matthew Weikert, 29
Justus Bartett, 27
Dave Santos, 21
Jesse Reed, 26
Matthew Johnson, 21
Zachary Fisher, 24
Brandon King 23
Christopher Goeke, 23
and Sheldon Tate, 27…..

Are all Marines that gave their lives last month for you. There is no media for them; not even a mention of their names. Honor THEM by sending this on.
The Medal of Honor is a Valor medal and says this on the Medal itself. it is bestowed on men and women in the military who, in moments of extreme danger, have been willing to sacrifice everything they have to save the life or lives of other persons. it does not belong to the recipient of the Medal. it belongs to everyone BUT the recipient. it belongs to the People of the United States of America as a tribute to the extreme and continuing value that we still place on Honor….a set of Beliefs and Values and Faith that the Nation was founded upon and that will live forever…and the recipient has been recognized by The People of this Country for acting on those Beliefs, those Values and that Faith ‘above and beyond the Call of Duty’.

the owners of the Frenchman’s Rough Map:

the Second (maybe Third) Cittie of the Colony:

the folks with the records:

those whom the POTUS has to salute:;;https://www.cia.go…;;


Posted by OLD VIRGINIA SURVEYOR on 2014-10-27 20:40:21