A Summary of Alexander Scott’s Narrative

Scott’s published account begins on 26 October 1810 when, at the age of sixteen, he sailed from Liverpool aboard the Montezuma bound for Brazil via the coast of West Africa where, on 23 November, it was wrecked somewhere between Cape Nun and Cape Bojador. Having struggled to shore, the surviving crew were met by two Africans who forced Scott and the ship’s cook to accompany them inland to their camp in the Zérrŏah valley. Sometime in December Scott was sold to a Muslim named Sidi El Hartōni with whom he returned to the wreck of the Montezuma before traveling south along the coast to an encampment called “El Ghiblah.” On at least one occasion Scott attempted to escape his new master but was caught and beaten.

After “several months” at “El Ghiblah,” Sidi El Hartōni led a caravan comprised of his family, Scott, and others from the encampment, along with 500–600 camels and over 1,000 goats and sheep, roughly east-south-east across the Sahara on an apparent pilgrimage towards a lake named “Bahâr Tieb” in a region known as “El Sharrag.” As they traversed the desert, Scott described their passing over “hard, clayey ground,” through sandy valleys, and over rocky hills where lichen could be found. At one time they spent two days traveling through woodland where Scott found wild oranges and their party was attacked by a “tiger,” though as the narrative explains in a note: “From Scott’s description of this animal, it would appear to be the Panther.”^{Footnote 8} Having reached the lake a boat was hired to ferry them to the other side; a journey which took three days. On the far side they arrived at a small village named El Tah Sidna Mahommed through which they passed into a “mountainous country” with valleys of oil-palm trees to reach Hêz el Hêzsh, where Sidi El Hartōni failed to force Scott to convert to Islam at the grave of Sidna Mahommed.

Sometime in late 1811, the whole caravan crossed back over Bahâr Tieb and began its return journey across the Sahara. After passing through the woodland of wild oranges and tigers (during which the caravan surprised and enslaved a small party of “Bambarras”) they traveled over “hard ground, with small hills, covered with low bushes” to a well-watered valley where they remained for “six moons.”^{Footnote 9} Once the valley was no longer capable of supporting the caravan’s livestock, they moved onwards to a new site nearby where they remained until sometime around September 1812 when they returned to El Ghiblah.

Scott remained with Sidi El Hartōni until the summer of 1816 when, having fallen asleep one day whilst tending to his master’s flock at a place called Lah Thinn, he awoke to find that a wild animal had attacked and killed three sheep. Fearing reprisal, Scott ran for the coast and traveled north for five days until he met a Moor who, upon learning that Scott could speak Arabic, invited him into his home near Wadnoon. Scott’s unlikely savior then agreed to carry a letter to the British Consul at Mogador in southern Morocco, William Willshire, who responded by sending him a horse and provisions for a journey to that town. Scott arrived at the Consulate on 31 August 1816 in a terrible condition and spent several months recovering before leaving Africa on 11 November. On 9 December 1816 Scott arrived in London.

Authentication

The problem with Alexander Scott’s narrative, when all is said and done, is that at face-value there is no reason that his testimony should have been accepted as factual. Scott’s great disadvantage rested in his status as a low-born, poorly-educated sailor from Liverpool. Placed against the intellectual and scientific leaders of his day, his account would have been subjected to incredible suspicion and criticism for his perceived inability to act as a reliable observer. Yet, Scott’s descriptions not only contributed to the growing wealth of knowledge that British scholars were amassing concerning Africa, but was considered as authoritative by some of the most respected scholars of the early nineteenth century. There is a core issue of trust inherent in the reading of any description regarding the unknown but for a man like Scott, with no scholarly or social standing, the gulf separating him from academic credibility appears unsurpassable.

The legitimization of knowledge is a topic that has received considerable attention in recent studies and which is summarized here in order to contextualize the extraordinary lengths to which Scott’s supporters went in making his narrative authoritative.^{Footnote 11} At the heart of this discussion is the role and position of what Outram calls the “new elite of Enlightenment Europe.”^{Footnote 12} These were the leaders of the methodological processes of enquiry that defined the development of intellectual rationality in the long eighteenth century. They were the foremost thinkers and do-ers of the day, liberated by the dismantling of traditional theological and mythological explanations of the world and its people, to pursue information for the use and benefit of humanity.^{Footnote 13} Equipped with an over-riding belief in the powers of reason and rationality to enlighten Europe with useful knowledge, this new elite applied itself to the wonders of foreign places. Geographical reports, along with specimens of exotic flora and fauna were brought to the cultural and academic centres of Europe to be assessed, categorized and contrasted against the corpus of contemporary knowledge. Through this process of cataloguing and archiving a strongly-defined scientific and literary conceptualization of the other evolved through the reception of these new articles, descriptions, and comparisons.

As the practice of observing and recording improved, however, so too did the demands for accuracy and accountability. Standardizing methods of recording and returning information, and the development of scientific equipment to enhance the observational capabilities of the individual, contributed to the believability of the information produced.^{Footnote 14} Withers and Livingstone stress, however, that the creation of these empirical rules and regulations at this time of supposed intellectual emancipation should be regarded as a form of control and limitation.^{Footnote 15} When the veracity of information came to be questioned, the doubt often rested with the informer. There developed a qualification for what constituted the “right” person for creating knowledge. Furthermore, the establishment of scientific institutions, intellectual societies and clubs, and government departments of study succeeded in drawing together the most active participants of the new elite, conditioning the acceptability of any discoveries or fact-finding activities to association with the “right” organizations. In terms of exploration, the aligning of legitimacy with institutional-association and recognition ultimately placed the explorer in a position of total reliance on the elite for accreditation of the traveller’s observations.^{Footnote 16}

The forming of the Association for Promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa, in 1788 by Sir Joseph Banks, marks the application of this institutionalization towards the investigation of that continent.^{Footnote 17} Commonly referred to as the African Association, this Gentlemen’s club financed a number of expeditions to the region before it was incorporated into the Royal Geographical Society in 1831. Having identified the commercial potential of a greater British presence in the African interior, it planned and financed travelers such as Mungo Park and published their findings alongside the cartographic interpretations of Rennell. In doing so, these reports were legitimized on the basis of the Society’s reputation as a scientifically-minded organization whilst their maps succeeded in reinforcing the impression of their authority.^{Footnote 18} The African Association also demonstrates the importance of social status in the formation of fact. Banks and its founding members were all of the upper classes and it has been argued that their pursuit of knowledge was heavily characterized by contemporary notions of gentility and patronage.^{Footnote 19} Consequently, there was a significant reliance on socially-constructed notions of gentlemanly honor, reflecting ideals that not only conflicted with the rationality of the time, but contributed additional qualifications that further limited the candidacy of men like Scott to act as reliable observers.^{Footnote 20}

But what of the individuals themselves? Whilst there was an active move to classify an “explorer” as distinct from other forms of travellers in the early nineteenth century, their eligibility to the title was founded largely on social status and ethnicity, as well as their adherence to increasingly stringent literary models of spectacle.^{Footnote 21} Richard and John Lander notably struggled for recognition of their discovery of the Niger Delta in 1830 in the face of intense socially motivated distrust after their return to Britain.^{Footnote 22} The introduction to their combined narrative asks that the public forgive the “many defects [that] will be found in our Narrative, both as regards its style and arrangement” and to thank Lieutenant Becher of the Royal Navy for making sense of their “imperfect labours.”^{Footnote 23} In terms of producing legitimate accounts of the West African interior, there were clearly a number of culturally-specific prerequisites necessary for the validation of knowledge. In this context, Banks’s faith in Scott’s narrative is unusual.

In consequence of these various factors, attempting to authenticate captivity narratives was a serious business. The editor of Robert Adams’s account, for example, spends fifteen pages justifying and explaining the veracity of his subject.^{Footnote 24} Adams, he reported, was supported by the confidence of more than fifty influential men (including Banks) who had interviewed him, as well as the corroboration of the consular official who had negotiated his ransom and release. Similarly, James Riley wrote an entire chapter to describe his academic background before he was shipwrecked to validate his claims to accuracy and trustworthiness.^{Footnote 25} In the introduction to the printed narrative that first appeared in The Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, Scott’s editor took the time to assure the reader of the text’s believability. Over the course of numerous interviews, he explains, the sailor’s testimony was subjected to intense scrutiny whilst efforts were made not to “lead” his account. He was later provided with a copy of George Shaw’s illustrated General Zoology, or, Systematic Natural History (1800) to identify animals he recognized from his travels and he impressed his examiners by singling out only those specimens believed to reside in North Africa.^{Footnote 26} By refraining from embellishing his descriptions he also inspired confidence in his objectivity. “[T]he result of our intercourse with him,” Traill wrote, “is a conviction, that what he relates may be depended on, as far as his opportunities and talent for observation extend.”

Whilst there were still evidently limitations associated with Scott’s capacity to remember details, when a draft of the finished manuscript was sent to Banks sometime in July 1818 and, through him, to Rennell, it was decided that it should be made available to the public, “in the plainest & simplest Manner possible.”^{Footnote 27} In contrast with captivity narratives that were intended to entertain and other travel publications in general, deliberate simplicity shows that Scott’s account was meant to have the appearances of an objective record of travel in Africa. This impression was strengthened further by the inclusion of Rennell’s Observations, which served as an educated guide to the account, and an accompanying map (seen Figure 1) showing Scott’s route across the Sahara.

Figure 1.

“Sketch of the Western Part of the Sahara Shewing the Routes of Alexander Scott Between 1810 & 1816. By Major James Rennell F.R.S.,” The Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, volume 4 (Edinburgh: Archibald Constable and Company, 1821), 38. Reproduced by permission of the National Library of Scotland.

Despite Rennell conceding that there were few elements in the geography of Scott’s narrative that could be consistently traced, he was aided by the relatively straight line the sailor followed into and out of the Sahara. This chart showing North-Western Africa from the Gambia to Mogador contains all the accepted geographical details popular in early nineteenth century maps (mostly from the enquiries of the African Association) with the addition of Scott’s observations. As it was imperative to have a known location to which the rest of the geography could be made relevant, Rennell began by approximating the site of the Montezuma’s wrecking in the area of Cape Juby. The location of El Ghiblah was then determined from Scott’s report of seventeen days’ walk southwards to reach it. From here his route into the Sahara could be traced from a known start-point.

In the absence of any records by Scott to mark his daily travel, Rennell employed a theory he had presented in 1791 for approximating the mean daily distance covered by camels.^{Footnote 28} According to Scott, their journey fortuitously appeared to be in a simple curving line east-south-east across the Sahara based on his observations of the rising sun. Having explained that from Scott’s interviews it took roughly 106 days for his caravan to cross the desert from El Ghiblah to Bahâr Tieb, Rennell calculated the course of Scott’s route on the map of West Africa and found the lake to be in the same area as the Lake Dibbie that had been described to Park. Their similarity of name (“Tieb” having a similar root-sound to “Dibbie”) and geographical proximity appears to have given credibility to Scott’s narrative from the trustworthy reputation of Park, whilst at the same time conferring greater authority to other elements of Rennell’s geographical interpretations of African geography from Park’s journals.^{Footnote 29} In fact, having established the authenticity of one account from its verification of the other, Rennell ambiguously contrasted the physical observation of the Lake by Scott as against the second-hand information that Park had received: “The Lake as described to Mr. Park, is so much smaller than the one seen by Scott: but no one will regard the two Accounts as of equal Authority.”^{Footnote 30} To further link this narrative to the geography of Park, Rennell traces his route from the Gambia River on the included map.

Contrasting the finished chart with Rennell’s draft (see Figure 2) illustrates much about the context of African discovery in the early nineteenth century, not least Major Rennell’s authority on all things related to that continent’s geography. He requested of Traill:

Figure 2.

National Library of Scotland, “MS. 19390, Sketch of the Western Part of the Sahara Shewing the Routes of Alexander Scott Between 1810 & 1816,” f. 51. Reproduced by permission of the National Library of Scotland.

The base map with regional names appears in black ink, whilst Rennell’s additions from Scott’s accounts combined with other details he deemed relevant and his work on currents are shown in red.^{Footnote 32} Though there are some features that appear in black which are exclusively the product of recent discovery (e.g. Lake Dibbie), Traill’s engraver appears to have considered the hydrography fixed until further notice. Likewise, settlements known to Britain and seen by Park on the Senegal and Gambia rivers are in black, as are the two new regions of El Ghiblah and EL Sharrag. Confusingly, these two areas are also included in a vocabulary list as “south” and “east” respectively despite al-gibla and al-sharg commonly meaning “west” and “east” in Saharan usage.^{Footnote 33} The amount of red ink helps visualize the wealth of information that had been acquired in a relatively short time as well as the focus of Rennell’s particular attention on coastal currents and internal geography.

In terms of publishing the narrative and its geography, efforts had obviously been made to make it appear legitimate in the eyes of its audience. Returning to the notion that the observer was subservient to those who received, assessed and distributed their work, it is clear that without the support of Banks, Rennell and Traill, Scott could not have presented his account as factual nor would he have had the opportunity. Ultimately, “patronage was the key,” as Stern says, for overcoming the question of trust.^{Footnote 34}

For exploration in general, sponsorship was a necessary prerequisite for the successful reception of geographical knowledge. As Banks’s endorsement was only privately expressed, Rennell’s influence was the only public declaration of institutionalized support. Similarly, however, there was also an enormous reliance apparent in the input of Traill and his fellow interviewer, William Lawson, for the production of the narrative in an acceptable form. As they were responsible for the authorship of Scott’s tale, their role in its authentication poses additional problems in assessing how the final text should serve as a historical document.

Withers and Keighren have recently highlighted the developing scholarly appreciation for how published material reflects the relationship between the composite roles of author, editor and publisher operation within a commercial market.^{Footnote 35} They illustrate how accounts such as travellers’ narratives were made to appear as if they adhered to the “voice” of the observer in an effort to promote trust in their content. There are, however, obvious issues when the input of an editor or another third-party corrupts the authenticity of the text. In the context of travel writing, it has been shown that amendments were regularly made to explorers’ accounts for the benefit of their commercial appeal in such a way as to impact significantly on the portrayal of people and places, the repercussions of which could have prolonged effects for how foreign objects were (and still are) represented.^{Footnote 36} Lockhart’s study of Hugh Clapperton’s journals from his two expeditions to Bornu and Sokoto in 1822 and 1825 demonstrates that his notes received a variety of editorial emendations from Clapperton himself and John Barrow (Permanent Secretary to the Admiralty and self-appointed editor for the John Murray publishing firm). Such editorial interventions often substantially altered the nature of the events originally recorded and were intended to influence their reception.^{Footnote 37}

Scott’s narrative has no author’s “voice” to disguise (though this fact is sometimes masked by Traill’s occasional inclusion of supposed quotes from Scott, complete with Liverpudlian colloquialisms), he had no field notes to edit, and his testimony was recorded and written by another. Whilst he could read and write, he was not perceived as a literate man which made the intervention of Traill a necessity.

The text is entirely the work of Traill and his co-interviewer William Lawson. Furthermore, a close comparison of the printed article with the hand-written manuscript that was sent to Banks bears evidence to the influence that Rennell had over the final copy. Judging from what he had scored out or written queries for, he convinced Traill to remove all of his own attempts at tracing Scott’s route so as not to conflict with the attached dissertation and map, made several corrections to the spelling of words and names on the basis of his own experience, and demanded that explanations be produced for how the caravan travelled and found water in the desert. Such editorials served to reinforce the presence and necessity of Rennell’s authority pre-publication whilst also distancing Scott yet further from his own narrative.^{Footnote 39}

Removing Scott’s “voice” contrasts significantly with the accounts of edited institutionalized exploration by famous travellers such as Mungo Park (particularly his posthumous second journal), Friedrich Horneman, James Tuckey, and Hugh Clapperton who all perished; yet the audience is still led to believe they are reading the uncontaminated first-hand observations of each traveller in question. Whereas there is a discernible impact on expedition journals by editors in general, the imagery associated with British exploration ultimately required that there still be a protagonist for the public to lionize.^{Footnote 40} As this was clearly not the case for Scott who was at all times presented as a character to be pitied, he serves as a useful example for highlighting the existence of cultural spectacle (to which he was not eligible) that defined “exploration.” Unlike the profitable publication of explorers’ journals that could be accompanied by lectures and public appearances. (Park was paid roughly £1000 for his Travels.) Scott received just £20 for the sale of his manuscript; most of which he sent to his mother.^{Footnote 41}

Whilst Traill and Lawson authored Scott’s narrative in a manner that was intended to be nothing but a presentation of all the facts derived from his testimony, they also included a number of footnotes that allowed them to engage with the text from their own perspective. In some cases these notes serve to justify to the reader why certain details appeared truthful to them. Primarily, however, they represent not only a literary device by which the information in Scott’s account was processed for the benefit of the reader, they also illustrate a key means by which it was made to appear reliable. Regardless of the fact that it was deemed neither suitable for Scott to write his own narrative, nor that the finished work be presented in the first person, these footnotes and the role they perform render him subservient to the critiques and additional information of his own biographers.

Explorers came to represent an important element of Britain’s reputation on the national and international stage. Their successes and often tragic deaths were inflated to reflect a level of patriotism that was fed by increasing contact with foreign places and competition with other industrial powers in those regions. There has been a growing study of the practicalities of these expeditions and the image of exploration, however, that has worked to deconstruct the popular, yet misleading conception, of heroic and intrepid individuals braving the elements of strange lands. Modern scholarship now recognizes the inherent vulnerability of Europeans traversing across foreign and potentially hostile lands.^{Footnote 42} In the course of an expedition, it was expected (almost demanded) that the going got tough. Information that was hard to acquire had the appearance of greater value. Concurrently, any scars (physical or mental) were accepted as irrefutable proof that an individual had suffered for their knowledge-granting experience.^{Footnote 43} Persons who returned from foreign lands were expected to exhibit how the experience had changed them; that in returning, they brought that quality back with them in a variety of recognisable forms such as a recurrent illness or injury.^{Footnote 44}

In this regard, Scott is certainly comparable with the explorers of his day. During the initial interviews Traill described Scott as having exhibited “a considerable degree of mental apathy” consistent with those “who have experienced the horrible tyranny of the inhabitants of the African Desert.”^{Footnote 45} He is portrayed as carrying the psychological cost of his encounter with the African interior. Moreover, in response to his descriptions of being beaten by his Arab masters he was apparently asked to detail the severity of his wounds and if he was ever cut to the bone. When he first appeared at Mogador, his appearance was described by one source as “most deplorable; though not twenty, he wore the marks of advanced age.”^{Footnote 46} Despite not having the social and academic credentials of a regular explorer, he was presented as bearing the acceptable hallmarks of having traveled in dangerous lands.

Robert Adams entered Mogador under similar circumstances as Scott. The American was met by the British Vice-Consul Mr. Dupuis who, because of Adams’s clothing, appearance and reluctance to speak English, refused at first to believe that he was meeting a Christian.^{Footnote 47} For Baepler this confusion of identity rooted in language and appearance is reflective of a contemporary distrust of assimilation by captives to the ways of their captors.^{Footnote 48} Such adaptation had cultural connotations of abandoning “civilization.” Even the issue of disguise within the context of exploration was developing into a fiercely contested practice as Heffernan has discussed in relation to the quest for Timbuktu.^{Footnote 49} Scott’s appearance and use of Arabic appears, however, to have caused less excitement, though he was clearly well versed in the language. On one occasion Sidi El Hartōni did try to force him to convert to Islam; Scott’s refusal (proven by demonstrating to Traill that he had not been circumcized) earned him a terrible beating that left him crippled for some time. Such defence of his Christianity serves to highlight, however, elements of Scott’s character that were intended to inspire the reader’s faith in him.^{Footnote 50}

Writing his geographical interpretation, Rennell explained that intelligent readers could discern fact from fiction, yet it can be shown that the heavily edited content of the narrative was equally as important for inspiring trust.^{Footnote 51} In the context of early-nineteenth century exploration, travel, and geography, Alexander Scott should not be seen as a likely contributor. His candidacy for trustworthiness was limited by his social status and education. In spite of these disadvantages, however, through the intervention and influence of Banks and Rennell, as well as the literary input of Traill, Scott’s narrative was presented as authoritative. Careful interviewing practices and editorials were applied to his account to produce a succinct and believable text, whilst an accompanying geographical discourse served to contribute towards the wider study of West Africa. Each of these factors, when combined, produced a work that added directly to the developing map of Africa and to the evolution of ideas regarding that continent as shall presently be discussed.

Reception

Scott’s return to London in 1816 came at a remarkably fortuitous time. Abolition in 1807 and conflict with the Asante along the Gold Coast had encouraged a rethink of Britain’s interaction with West Africa and, following the defeat of Napoleon, the government was free to concentrate on its relationship with that quarter. Bowdich was sent by the African Company to Kumasi to negotiate peace with the Asantehene, whilst the Admiralty sent its first squadrons to police the coast for illegal slave traders. Academic interest was revived by the African Association’s agent Johann Ludwig Burckhardt who was traveling from Cairo into the Fezzan and in 1816 the first journals of Mungo Park’s second expedition were being published, leading to subsequent reprints of his original Travels.^{Footnote 53} Finally, and perhaps most significantly, two more expeditions to find the Niger had been recently commissioned and dispatched. The atmosphere in which Traill and Lawson interviewed Scott was, therefore, one of heightened curiosity.

The question of the Niger’s course and competition for its commerce dominated the planning of both Major Peddie’s intended (1815) overland march from the windward coast towards its supposed source and Captain Tuckey’s (1816) approach up the Congo to discover its termination. In the first instance, it was hoped that a larger force might succeed where Park had failed, whereas the second scheme aimed to test the popular theory that the Congo River was joined by the Niger. Provided that both expeditions were successful, it was hoped that they would meet somewhere in the middle and establish a British presence in the interior before any other competitor.

The impracticable geography of these endeavors reflects the piece-meal nature of Britain’s cartographic knowledge of West Africa, where features such as the Kong mountain chain could be constructed out of a chance observation from Park.^{Footnote 54} With no other way of discovering the truth, however, Britain was reliant on first-hand accounts. According to Rennell:

When Scott’s tale first appeared in 1820, the most popular descriptions of north-west Africa were by James Grey Jackson, who’s Account of the Empire of Marocco (1809) and Account of Timbuctoo and Housa (1820) combined notes gathered from Saharan merchants and offered the first British attempt to describe Timbuktu. Scott’s new geography was thus placed against common images of the Sahara; of “boundless plains” and “drifting sands resembling exactly the waves of the ocean.”^{Footnote 56} At least one literary reviewer extensively contrasted the two descriptions and even criticized some of the Major’s conclusions in favor of Jackson.^{Footnote 57} Scott’s advantage in this case, however, was his claim to have physically observed these places, rather than learning of them second hand. More generally, Jackson was used to corroborate the narrative’s Arabic and descriptions of Saharans, though he offers little to clear up the confusion over “El-Ghiblah” and “El-Sharrag.”

When writing his interpretation of Scott’s African geography, there are instances where Rennell’s personal convictions appear to have superseded his objectivity. The aforementioned critique noted that the Major’s depiction of Lake Dibbie was too diminutive according to the information Scott has provided about his crossing; the problem being that Rennell favored Park’s description of a smaller body of water.^{Footnote 58} Similarly, the two oases marked on the Map as Gualata and Taudeny that were originally derived from Leo Africanus’ sixteenth century description and which were regular features on maps of Africa seem to have guided the Major’s interpretation. Rennell used Scott’s testimony of watered valleys in the desert (near the supposed western edge of Gualata) to lend credence to the writings of that fabled geographer. In this instance he considered the possibility that Scott’s route was more northerly than estimated but concluded that his description of compact sands and watered valleys could only have referred to the fringes of the oasis so his cartography reflects his imagining of Gualata’s appearance.^{Footnote 59}

It is notable that given the popularity for any new information relating to the River Niger, Rennell did not attempt to join this particular work to that ongoing enquiry. In the aftermath of Tuckey’s disastrous enterprise, combined with several conflicting hypotheses regarding the river’s termination, he concluded that “[s]o many systems are abroad that the public begin to be tired.”^{Footnote 60} It is possible that when it was published in 1820, the catastrophic failure of Tuckey’s expedition to ascertain anything of consequence had dampened the public’s ardor for the subject. Equally possible, however, was that Rennell actively played down an alternative to his belief that the Niger terminated somewhere in the African interior. Privately Rennell concluded that people should be content with the descriptions of the Niger’s termination in a great inland lake left by the “Ancients” such as Ptolemy and Pliny whose writings continued to influence cartography in early nineteenth century maps.^{Footnote 61}

In the edited narrative Scott recounts a conversation he had with enslaved boatmen on Lake Dibbie who tell him that the water they are on joins the sea somewhere to the south near a place called Bambarry, an area which Rennell identifies as possibly being the region known as Bamba south of the Congo’s outlet. Whilst this information is discounted because of its lowly source, its inclusion in the narrative appears significant due to the hypothetical basis of Tuckey’s expedition that the Niger might reach the Congo. This detail did not go unnoticed, regardless whether the Niger’s termination be in the Bight of Biafra or the Congo, and one review of James MacQueen’s Geographical and Commercial View of Northern Central Africa (1820) noted that his hypothesis of the Niger’s outlet into the Atlantic had “received a strong corroboration by the narrative of Alexander Scott.”^{Footnote 62}

The Niger question highlights a rare difference of opinion between Trail and Lawson, and Rennell. Rennell’s reluctance to delve once more into that contentious issue was not enough to stop the authors including details that were known to be of popular interest. As public consumption was ultimately what drove the market for travel writing and geographical publications, and to a certain degree the production of cartography, there is cause for concern when that interest influenced the style and content of such texts.^{Footnote 63} In the context of Scott’s narrative there is much that the circumstances of its publication can help explain.

When Scott’s narrative was eventually published, the field of African exploration had experienced one of the great watersheds of its nineteenth-century development. The vacuum left by Joseph Banks’ death in 1820 had been filled with the impressive figure of the Admiralty’s John Barrow, a man rightfully credited with ensuring that expeditions continued to be sponsored and financed across the globe, as well as Africa.^{Footnote 64} It was Barrow though, who demanded that British exploration promote the dignity of the British Empire, that individuals maintain their appearance as Christian Gentlemen and not demonstrate weakness when faced with the conditions of foreign lands. It was also Barrow who belittled the efforts of Richard and John Lander in 1831 to personally engage with their recent discovery of the Niger delta. The intellectual atmosphere in which the narrative was finally printed was very different from when it had been written. The likelihood of Scott’s account being received as reliable was much reduced.

The historical context also holds significance for the literary world into which the account was released. Linda Colley warns that “the captive’s tale needs to be read and interpreted in a wider British and global context.”^{Footnote 65} Her concern is that these publications have not only a cultural relativity but a time and space framework that reflects developing ideas of foreign lands and Britain’s changing relationship with them. As Europeans expanded across the world and advanced technologically, their sense of power and supremacy was matched by literature that reinforced such beliefs. Writers focused on “the other” and contrasted it against the “civilization” of their own lands and people. In this light, the captivity narrative was a notable medium for popularizing common prejudices by encouraging an emotional response to the plight of the victim whilst highlighting the villainy of their captors.^{Footnote 66}

In the context of West African captivity narratives, accounts like those of Riley were made popular by particularly graphic descriptions of his enslavement and the colorful imagery used to portray the landscapes he passed. Yet the violent scenes described by the American Riley are precisely why the academic community struggled to regard his narrative as objective.^{Footnote 67} This is indicative of the contrast between what Pratt refers to as “sentimental” and “scientific” writing.^{Footnote 68} There is a contradiction in such a distinction within travel writing, however, as she discusses when referring to Mungo Park’s first Travels, which should be considered as both “sentimental” for his engagement with the friendly Africans he met, and “scientific” for its geographical contributions. In this instance, the problem is ultimately negated in the contemporary reader’s eye by what is referred to as the rule of “reciprocity” by which Park can be seen as a benevolent hero, bringing the “civilized” qualities of late eighteenth-century Britain to Africa. In doing so he justifies the notion that his presence (and by extension, any other Enlightened European’s) was beneficial.

Scott’s narrative cannot be considered as “sentimental.” Great efforts had actually gone into removing any suggestion of the author’s emotions (even his first-person perspective) so as to give it a “scientific” appearance and there are few instances when his interactions with his Arab masters is noted beyond those times when he is beaten. Outram’s conceptualization of the cross-cultural exchange, however, finds that in any instance of travel through foreign lands, contact between Europeans and indigenous peoples around the world has an inherent, though sometimes unnoticed or unacknowledged, impact on both parties.^{Footnote 69} This two-way contact is seen as a significant feature of official travel writing which in the case of Park demonstrated to his readership the trials he endured for the sake of knowledge and the benefits of his travels to the people he encountered. Unlike Park though, Scott was not deemed appropriate to be considered as having a positive reciprocal effect.

It appears that for the sake of the audience’s intended perception of Scott’s experience, the results of his interaction with the African landscape and its inhabitants were doctored to provide maximum credibility and minimum criticism from any readers. To this end the Arabic that he had clearly learned during his captivity and which was a product of his contact with Africa, is presented on specific occasions as being flawed and imperfect, or possibly even unique to the El Ghiblah region.^{Footnote 70} In light of the distrust that Adams’s appearance and use of fluent Arabic received, it is perhaps reasonable to assume that Traill sought to avoid any similar sentiment. Yet, an important feature of those times when he was presented as misunderstanding the Arabic directed at him appears to be when his translations led to geographical conclusions that Rennell was uncomfortable with.^{Footnote 71}

In the face of an ever-growing literary market carrying descriptions of the African interior and changing conditions for authentic traveler’s accounts, it is understandable why efforts were made to distinguish Scott as reliable. However, in addition to the means by which the narrative was made to appear authentic, there are elements that were specifically tailored to the expectations of its audience, not least with regards to how it represented the African interior.

It had become popular by the nineteenth century to maintain the notion of Africa as a land of lesser cultures which were not only inferior but was, according to some arguments, even degenerating.^{Footnote 72} Captivity narratives that portrayed the unexplored interior often preserved popular myths, many of which were rooted in the representations of the abolition debates from the previous century that encouraged an image of African imperfection. In doing so they conformed to the expectation of their readership.^{Footnote 73} On one occasion, Scott observed:

This description of a once-significant dwelling contrasts heavily with the realities of the nearby village he resides briefly in, which consisted of tents and small huts made of logs, canes, and rushes. Such juxtaposition served to reinforce the notion of regression. Whilst this inclusion may be regarded as evidence of the region’s historic prosperity, such a scene illustrated to a British audience evidence of scenes they had come to expect.

Interestingly, whereas similar practices can often be found regarding how Muslims are presented in travel writing, Scott’s approach to them is surprisingly detached. One of the more significant legacies of Park’s first journal in terms of subsequent literary themes and British interaction with the region was its positive descriptions of pagan Africans that contrasting strongly with the image of his Muslim tormentors. For a genre that categorically highlighted the differences between Christian Europe and Islamic North Africa, this absence is notable. Illustrating the hyperbolic character of the genre, Riley’s portrayal of a Saharan Arab is most colorful:

Comparatively, when Scott’s narrative first discusses his Arab captors, they are simply described as having a “very brown” complexion, “both men and woman were very bony.”^{Footnote 76} It is quite possible that this is the result of Rennell and Traill’s efforts to keep the focus of the text firmly on its geographical contributions but the distinct lack of Muslim villainy serves to further distance Scott from other captivity narratives.

A fundamental element of these publications was unavoidably the theme of slavery and so their reception was intertwined with public attitudes towards that trade.^{Footnote 77} Though few actively condemned the practice, captivity narratives presented an inverted reality where the white Christian was no longer his own master. The physical and mental experience of slavery was inventively embellished for the benefit of the reader’s imagination while standard models for illustrating the cruelty of Africans and the harshness of their country were reinforced through developing literary tropes. Before abolition in1807, as the debate over slavery developed, both sides of the issue utilized the available literature to highlight the legitimacy of their cause. According to Baepler, captivity narratives often served as a valuable medium for highlighting the barbarity and pervasiveness of the African slave trade.^{Footnote 78}

As a mercantile nation, the moral reasons for supporting abolition in Britain were ultimately overshadowed by the financial realities of the transatlantic slave trade. Developing from a humanitarian foundation, it became necessary for the anti-slavery movement to provide an alternative economic model.^{Footnote 79} “Legitimate commerce” was conceptualized to supplant the slave trade by encouraging the cultivation of agricultural products such as palm oil and groundnuts. It was gradually recognized though, that whilst abolition had impacted on the coastal regions, internal slave markets remained strong and actually grew following declining competition on the coast.^{Footnote 80}

In order to foster early support for the introduction of alternative agricultural economies to replace internal slave markets, the hostile environment of the Torrid Zone, under which label Africa continued to suffer, had to be addressed. Historic contact with the Guinea coast had done much to illustrate the faults with such a classification and in 1817 Alexander von Humboldt published his isothermal chart that illustrated the variation of surface temperature across the world. In doing so, the famous naturalist highlighted the influence of local geography on the environment rather than simple horizontal lines of latitude forfeiting large areas as barren. It is somewhat serendipitous that the edition of Brewster’s Edinburgh Philosophical Journal that carried the first portion of Scott’s narrative also published excerpts of Humboldt’s treatise on isothermal lines and global temperatures. Reinventing the landscape of the interior in the public mind was no easy task but abolitionist publications from at least the 1780s had established a tradition of monopolizing the public’s imagination by highlighting the great potential of the coast and its hinterland. In 1821, the latest and most significant attempt to critically engage with Africa’s geography was James MacQueen’s Geographical and Commercial View of Northern Central Africa, which hypothesized (correctly) the Niger’s termination to be in the Bight of Biafra, granting access to a potentially fertile interior.^{Footnote 81}

It is in keeping with the abolitionists’ portrayal of Africa that accompanying Scott’s description of the abandoned buildings, set in their lonely surroundings, there are also valleys of shea trees that the local population uses for producing butter.^{Footnote 82} There is an element of poetic imagery therein, of Africans living in the shadows of a former society with the potential for improved circumstances through the increased intervention of Europeans. To highlight the significance of this revised view of the African interior, Rennell wrote:

Whereas the narrative was apparently not adopted by either side of the ongoing slavery debate, it was printed at a time of intense scrutiny regarding the very nature of the African environment.

The final publication of Scott’s narrative, it has been argued, was tailored so that it would appear acceptable to certain audiences. Rennell’s accompanying cartography was similarly calculated for how it would be received by the public and he instructed that the map should not be too big “so as to make [Scott’s] Route appear of much more consequence,” noting that large maps of Park’s journeys cut a “poor figure (…) on N. Africa at large.”^{Footnote 84} The construction of the map, therefore, intentionally disguised the reality that Scott’s travels actually offered a very limited view of the African interior. Regardless, British readers and cartographers accepted the authenticity of Scott’s geography.

On the basis of a brief review of available maps, the camp at El Ghiblah appears from as early as the 1830s; John Arrowsmith’s Africa (1834) is a particularly good example.^{Footnote 85} In some cases, it is confused with the Biblah that James Riley passed through and it materializes in a range of spellings. These appearances persist on British maps dedicated to showing West Africa in detail through the nineteenth and early twentieth century. The region “El-Sharrag,” however, was not reproduced. Either because of the confusion around its meaning, or because geographers found problems with the manner of its inclusion on the map.

In 1840, MacQueen cited Scott on a number of occasions in his Geographical Survey of Africa to justify his interpretation of the Niger above Timbuktu.^{Footnote 86} MacQueen was accustomed to referring to a wider range of sources than most academics of his time would have been comfortable admitting to (his inclusion of slave testimonies is well known to have attracted strong criticism) so his consideration is perhaps less surprising.^{Footnote 87} In 1858 however, the eminent and scholarly explorer Heinrich Barth reviewed Scott’s description of the grave of Sidna Mahommed’s (whom he identifies as a descendant of the Prophet Mohammed now known as Muhammad al-Kabari, a significant fifteenth century scholar from Timbuktu). Whilst he was sceptical of certain details, he found reason to believe the account, contributing in a minor capacity to the developing geographical and historical study of the Songhai Empire. He did acknowledge the problem of “El-Sharrag” but accepted that the word at least demonstrated that Scott’s Arabic was learned in the Sahara.^{Footnote 88} In short, however, the narrative and geography of Alexander Scott’s ordeal had, in its small way, categorically become an acceptable source of fact following its publication and continued to feature in the cartographic record.

The relative success of Scott’s narrative is shown, in part, to be related to the timing of its publication with regards to general interest about the African interior. The historic literary context might also explain why publication of Scott’s narrative was delayed following the popular accounts of Adams and Riley in 1816 and 1817 respectively. Both were publically successful but hugely divisive within academic circles.^{Footnote 89} Whilst Scott was interviewed in 1816, printing was deferred until 1821. Traill claimed that this delay was incurred by repeated rejections from publishing houses, including the prolific John Murray and his associate Barrow, before he was persuaded to sell it as an article to Dr. Brewster, the editor of The Edinburgh Philosophical Journal.^{Footnote 90} Rennell lamented at the need for serialization but conceded that the journal was well respected.^{Footnote 91} It was a tactic noted of publishers in the nineteenth-century to control (so far as they could) the market within which they operated. If Scott’s manuscript was declined, it may well have been because the public’s interest in captivity narratives had been recently met. Indeed, one astute critic noted: “[a]s our acquaintance with Africa proceeds and enlarges, travellers multiply.”^{Footnote 92}

Due to the nature of their publications, Adams and Riley had a much greater impact on the public; largely because of the volume of information they offered and the interest associated with their content. Whereas Riley’s narrative offered a chilling and graphic tale of slavery, Adams offered readers with a plausible description of the mysterious city of Timbuktu. The nature of so spectacular a revelation, however, divided public opinion. For one evangelical reviewer who congratulated Adams on the perseverance of his Christian faith in spite of his situation, the “fidelity” of his report inspired “not the slightest doubt.”^{Footnote 93} In contrast, however, another journal dismissed the account as one that would “more generally be taken up as a work of amusement than of instruction,” claiming that its popularity was linked to the public interest in the recent publication of Park’s second journal and Major Peddie’s expedition rather than its own merit.^{Footnote 94} Significantly, this critic condemned the lack of precise geographical information that could be derived from its pages regardless of its prefixed map. This complaint illustrates not only the importance associated with clear geographic details but also the demand that new travel literature be able to contribute to the wealth of knowledge that was continuously being acquired from all quarters of the globe.

Rennell’s map and treatise allowed the reader to follow Scott’s route across the Sahara; it also ensured his observations were accessible to the educated scholar. In general, the account was well received as “interesting,” and one that “no one will doubt.”^{Footnote 95} At least one journal even offered an “explanatory dissertation” by critically engaging with its geography and descriptions of natural history, as well as commenting on its ethnographic and linguistic data.^{Footnote 96}

It becomes apparent that as much as the efforts to legitimize the narrative are significant for the recognition of Scott’s account by an educated audience, the historic context of its reception also served to influence the style and content of the text. It is clear that despite efforts to ascertain his authenticity and distance the account from popular captivity narratives, the edited account conformed to various literary tropes that were developing in concert with scientific and commercialized publications. The conditions for returning explorers within contemporary academic and public spheres combined to prevent Scott from achieving full “explorer”-status. Alone, he was not able to fully overcome his social or educational status in the eyes of his readers. With the help of Rennell and Traill, however, his narrative was able to stand alongside the popular geographical texts of his day. As his account was ultimately able to influence British cartography it is argued that the acceptance of his observations represents an interesting complication for how modern scholarship defines the legitimization of knowledge in the early nineteenth century.