If that is indeed the case, Hank Campbell is in very deep... well, his problems have just begun.

For, you see, little Poco Cabesa's claim to historical fame rests on the shoulders of Hyman Shlomo Klinkle, a 19th century Minnesota fertilizer magnate.

Perhaps that should be restated.

The treasure that lured Hyman (who made his first fortune manufacturing gunpowder for both sides in the Civil War) to Poco Cabesa after the shooting stopped was guano. Dried bird-droppings.

Enormous quantities of it.

And, to Hyman Klinkle, that was the sweet smell of opportunity.

It was early in the 19th century that farmers discovered the beauty of manufactured fertilizer. And fertilizer meant phosphates. And phosphates meant... well, you get the idea. Unfortunately, fertilizer made from low-grade American bat guano didn't quite cut the mustard, so to speak.

Suddenly, the United States faced the frightening prospect of a guano gap. This dire threat to the Republic gave our 34th Congress something to do besides argue about states' rights and bludgeon one another with walking sticks and pistol butts.

What they did allowed Hyman to claim-stake the small island under the U.S. Guano Act of 1856 and get to work.

Under provisions of the Act, Hyman acquired all mineral rights in exchange for four pigs, a two year old copy of "Leslie's Illustrated," and a boat-ride for the olefactory-challenged clan-in-residence off their malodorous home.

Then he brought in his fertilizer managers, who naturally were none too happy with this new assignment. But they got over it when they saw that prime guano.

Now, to mine guano you need guano miners and Hyman advertised for them far and wide. It wasn't long before the guano-encrusted portions of the little island were crawling with adventurous souls from around the globe.

Riches literally lay on the ground, ready for hard-working, enterprising men and women with strong stomachs and no sense of smell to come along, scoop it up, and sell it to Hyman Klinkle.

Overnight, Poco Cabesa experienced a guano rush that rivaled the booms of the Klondike, the Comstock, or Sutter's Creek. Only with a little stronger odor.

Success stories abounded. One thoughtful lad earned a fortune in just three months providing tubs of lemon juice for miners to bathe in before they patronized the bawdy houses. A New Hampshire man netted $200,000 on one shipment of hip-waders to the island in 1878.

And some say a Malay laundress (an ancestor of Baby Willie Yu) bought her own island in the Seychelles with the guano she shook out of her clients' cuffs.

Everywhere you looked, Poco Cabesa positively festered with the fruits of the free market... Lord, those were the days.

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