Four ships there were in the fleet that sailed this year: The Mary, frigate, under Captain Belcher, with Mike Grimmington, Jr., now chief mate, a crew of eighteen and a passenger list of new servants for York and Churchill, among them Henry Kelsey, to be governor during Knight’s absence from Churchill; the frigate Hudson’s Bay under Captain Ward, with twenty-three passengers for the south end of the bay; and the two ships for Knight’s venture: The Discovery, Captain Vaughan; The Albany, Captain Bailey, with fifty men, all told, bound for the unknown North, the three men, Benjamin Fuller, David Newman and John Awdry going as lieutenants to Captain Knight. Henry Kelsey had left his wife in London. Each of the captains had given bonds of £2,000 to obey Knight in all things.
Knight himself is now eighty years of age—an old war horse limbering up to battle at the smell of powder smoke—his ships loaded with iron-hooped treasure casks to carry back the gold dust. The complete frames of houses are carried to build a post in the North, and among his fifty men are iron forgers, armorers, whalers from Dundee, and a surgeon paid the unusual salary of £50 a year on account of the extraordinary dangers of this voyage. Bailey was probably the son of that Bayly, who was first governor for the Adventurers on the bay. A seasoned veteran, he had passed through the famous siege of Nelson in ’97. When Knight had left Albany to come to England, Fullerton was deputy and Bailey next in command. There was peace with France, but that had not prevented a score of French raiders coming overland to ambush the English. Bailey got wind of the raiders hiding in the woods round Albany and shutting gates, bided his time. Word was sent to the mate of his ship lying off shore, at the sound of a cannon shot to rush to the rescue. At midnight a thunderous hammering on the front gates summoned the English to surrender. Bailey gingerly opened the wicket at the side of the gate and asked what was wanted.
“Entrance,” yelled the raiders, confident that they had taken the English by surprise.
Bailey answered that the Governor was asleep, but he would go and fetch the keys. The raiders rallied to the gate. Bailey put the match lighters to the six-pounders inside and let fly simultaneous charges across the platform where the raiders crowded against the gate. There was instant slaughter, a wild yell, and a rush for cover in the woods, but the cannon shot had brought the master of Bailey’s sloop running ashore. Raiders and sailors dashed into each other’s faces, with the result that the crew were annihilated in the dark. For some days the raiders hung about the outskirts of the woods, burying the dead, waiting for the wounded to heal, and hunting for food. A solitary Frenchman was observed parading the esplanade in front of the fort. Fullerton came out and demanded what he wanted. The fellow made no answer but continued his solitary march up and down under the English guns. Fullerton offered to accept him as a hostage for the others’ good conduct, but the man was mute as stone. The English governor bade him be off, or he would be shot. The strange raider continued his odd tramp up and down till a shot from the fort window killed him instantly. The only explanation of the incident was that the man must have been crazed by the hardship of the raid and by the horrors of the midnight slaughter.
Bailey, then, was the man chosen as the captain of The Albany and Knight’s right-hand man.
The ships were to keep together till they reached the entrance of the straits, the two merchantmen under Ward and Belcher then to go forward to the fur posts, Knight’s two ships straight west for Chesterfield Inlet, where he was to winter. Two guineas each, the Adventurers gave the crews of each ship that afternoon on June 3, at Gravesend, to drink “God-speed, a prosperous discovery, a faire wind, and a good sail.”