Shipwrecks, unless they happen to contain chests filled with Spanish doubloons, seldom cause much of a stir. The Hunley was different. A hallowed Confederate relic, the little submarine was a tomb holding the remains of eight brave sons of the South who paid the highest price in an attempt to turn the tide of the Civil War. “Almost immediately,” Clive recalls, “the vultures came to roost like gargoyles brooding over a derelict cathedral.”

Since the Hunley was built in Mobile, the state of Alabama wanted it. South Carolina claimed ownership because the Hunley sailed into battle from the state’s shore and was sunk in Charleston Harbor. The Federal Government got involved because all abandoned Confederate property falls under the jurisdiction of the General Services Administration. Adding to the mix, several descendants of sailors who were aboard the Housatonic when the Hunley sent her to the bottom filed claims for ownership of the submarine.

Things really heated up when SCIAA not only demanded NUMA turn over the wreck’s coordinates, they suggested a buoy should be placed on the site, ostensibly to dissuade vandals. Clive told them to forget about it. “I wasn’t going to share anything with those incompetent clowns,” he growls. “A buoy was no different than a big neon sign proclaiming, THIEVES, COME ONE, COME ALL.”

Clive was aware of the rumors that collectors of Civil War artifacts had offered $50,000 for the Hunley’s hatch cover and $100,000 for its propeller. When he refused to tell them the location of the Hunley, Clive was, “accused of desecrating the grave of Confederate war heroes, raping the wreck, ransoming the sovereign state of South Carolina, and scheming to carry off the Hunley and set it in my front yard. I didn’t spend fifteen years looking for it only to have it broken up by amateurs. The Hunley was going to stay lost until we were reasonably assured the submarine would be recovered and preserved in a proper and scientific manner.”

When Mark Newell learned of the discovery, he was incensed. Not only had NUMA found the Hunley, they did it without him. He would later claim his “competent research was preempted by a glory-hunting millionaire.” Newell quit SCIAA, and a month after the sub was discovered, a group of his supporters announced a Cussler book burning would be held in Augusta, Georgia. When the fire department put the kibosh on the roast, Clive was disappointed. “I might have shown up to strike the first match. You can’t buy publicity like that.”

A press conference to officially announce the discovery of the Hunley was held on May 11, 1995. Standing in front of the replica of the submarine on the Charleston Museum’s front yard, Clive played the underwater videotape of the wreck and answered reporters’ questions about the prolonged search for the submarine and its discovery. Brian Hicks, a reporter for the Post and Courier, recalls, “The assembled media ate it up. Cussler knew what they wanted to hear and told great stories. In reporters’ parlance, Cussler gave good quote.”

After the press conference ended, one of the onlookers congratulated Clive on his find and then went on to remind him, and anybody else who would listen, that he had actually discovered the Hunley.

Edward Lee Spence grew up on Sullivan’s Island, a small town located at the mouth of Charleston Harbor. By the time he was twenty-three, Spence claimed he had dived on more than fifty shipwrecks along the South Carolina coast. In 1970, a local newspaper reported he was planning to lead an expedition to find the Hunley. A few months later, Spence and a few friends were fishing a few miles outside of Charleston Harbor. When a trap snagged on the bottom, Spence volunteered to dive down to free it and discovered the trap was hung up on something made of iron. He would later describe, “running his fingers along its raised rivets.” Back in the boat, Spence, convinced he had found the Hunley, lined up a channel buoy with the Sullivan Island lighthouse and drew a large X on a map.

For the next thirty years, Spence wrote letters to every agency he could think of, including the state of South Carolina, the U.S. Navy and the General Services Administration, recounting his discovery of the Hunley. In newspaper articles, television appearances, and lectures at Civil War conferences, Spence advertised himself as “The Man Who Found The Hunley.” When nobody was willing to give him the official recognition he thought he deserved, Spence filed an admiralty suit in federal court in Charleston, claiming he was the sole owner of the Hunley under the law of salvage and the law of finds. Although the judge refused to hear the case, Spence left the courthouse claiming victory.

Over time, Spence’s attempt to persuade the world he discovered the submarine became increasingly strident. In addition to writing several books, numerous magazine articles, and rambling dissertations on the internet, Spence graciously donated his “rights” to the Hunley to the state of South Carolina in 1995. After NUMA’s discovery, Spence called Clive “a liar” saying, “Cussler uses his alleged shipwreck discoveries as a way to garner free publicity for himself and his novels.” In 2001, Clive ran out of patience and filed a suit to prevent Spence from further attacks on his reputation. Spence filed a countersuit, claiming he had suffered damages anywhere from $100,000 to $309 million, but a judge ruled against him. A year later, Clive ended his lawsuit. “Being one who is by nature not litigious, I am pleased with this step toward ending the long unnecessary conflict with Mr. Lee Spence. Thought I commend Mr. Spence’s perseverance, it has been proven time and again that he did not locate the H.L. Hunley.”

Commenting on the outcome, Clive’s attorney, Ric Tapp, stated, “The court has now barred Mr. Spence’s claim, and the public, the Hunley Commission, and the National Park Service have expressly credited NUMA with the discovery of the H.L. Hunley.”

Six months after the Hunley was located, a deal was worked out that satisfied everybody involved. The U.S. government would retain the title to the Hunley, but the submarine would have a permanent home in Charleston. The Hunley Commission, an agency set up by the state of South Carolina, would have the final say on how the restored craft would be displayed. Satisfied his find was finally in good hands, Clive provided the submarine’s coordinates to the Naval Historical Center on November 9, 1995.

Five years later, the little sub was lifted off the bottom, secured to a barge, and towed past boatloads of cheering spectators to the Warren Lash Conservation Center.

Dirk Cussler believes, “The Hunley really is Clive’s most important legacy. I would like to think that people will be standing before the remains of the Hunley centuries from now, and that at least a few of them will give a small nod to the guys who found her.”