General Roberdeau's stay at the mines must have been brief. The next we hear of him is in a letter to Vice-President Bryan, dated at York, on the 30th of May of the same year. The direction of affairs at the mines was probably left in the hands of Lowrie and Cluggage.
It is altogether uncertain how long the mines were carried on by government, but not longer, probably, than till the fall of 1779; and what the total yield of lead was during that time we cannot ascertain. In one place in the Records we find an order forwarded to one of the sub-lieutenants of the county for five hundred pounds; and we also hear that quantities were issued to the militia at sundry times. There must have been some kind of a bargain existing between government and Roberdeau for taking out the lead, for, in a letter to Vice-President Bryan for some pay due him, he says, "My late engagement in the lead-works has proved a moth to my circulating cash, and obliged me to make free with a friend in borrowing." He also says, in a letter to President Reed, bearing date November 10, 1779:—
Sir:—Permit me to ask the favor of you to make my request known to the honorable Board of your Presidence that they would be pleased this day to order me payment for the ten hundred pounds of lead delivered to your order some months ago. The price of that article is so enormous that I should blush to make a demand, but my necessity keeps equal pace with the rapid depreciation of our money; and particularly as I purpose leaving the city to-morrow, dependence has been had on the money in question, for my advances are insupportably great, for my defected purpose of supplying lead to Continent, which, entirely through default of Congress in not furnishing the necessary defences, has been entirely stopped, as the honorable the Assembly have been informed. After the most diligent inquiry, I cannot find less than six dollars per pound demanded for lead by the quantity,—a price which, Mr. Peters just now informed me, the Board of War was willing to give.
This epistle near about fixes the time of the abandonment of the mines; and it also shows that lead commanded rather an exorbitant price at that time—payable, of course, in Continental funds.
In 1779, Sinking Spring Valley contained, according to an anonymous writer, "sixty or seventy families, living in log-houses." The principal portion of these were foreigners, who were taken there to work the mines. After Roberdeau's project had fallen to the ground, in consequence of the scarcity of the ore and the immense expense of mining and melting it, these miners attempted for a while to carry on operations for themselves. Their close proximity to the Indians, and the fact that several incursions were made into the valley by the savages in search of plunder and scalps, made those men, unused to border life, quit, and seek refuge in the Atlantic cities. The fort was evacuated by the government militia. Nevertheless it was still a place of refuge, and was used by the settlers of Sinking Valley and Bald Eagle up to the close of the war.
In 1781, Jacob Roller, Jr., and a man named Bebault, were massacred by Indians in Sinking Valley. Few particulars of this massacre are known, and many contradictory stories still exist in regard to it. We give Mr. Maguire's version of it, but would at the same time state that he did not vouch for the authenticity of it, as he gathered it from the exaggerated rumors that in those days followed the recital of current events.
Roller, it appears was an active and energetic frontier-man, bold, fearless, and daring; and the common belief was that his unerring rifle had ended the days of many a red-skin. Be that as it may, however, it is certain that the Indians knew him, and marked him out for a victim long before they succeeded in despatching him. Several small roving bands were in the habit of coming down into the valley after the mines were abandoned; but no favorable opportunity offered for a long time to kill Roller.
On one occasion, four of the settlers had met at Roller's house for the purpose of going on a hunt for deer. Early in the morning, when just ready to start, Roller heard the breaking of a twig near his cabin. He peered out into the deep gloom of the misty morning, and discovered three Indians crouching near an oak-tree. It was very evident that the Indians had not been close enough to the house to ascertain the number within, and the inmates were in a state of doubt as to the number of savages. Profound silence was observed, and it was resolved to shoot from the window as soon as the light was sufficiently strong to render their aim certain. The Indians were evidently waiting for Roller to come out of his house. At length, when they thought the proper time had come, the settlers gathered at the window, and thrust out their rifles as silently as possible. The quick eyes of the savages saw, even by the hazy light, that there were too many muzzles to belong to one man, and they took to the woods with all the speed they could command, leaving behind them a quantity of venison and dried corn, and a British rifle.
On another occasion, Roller had an encounter with a single Indian in the woods, which probably stands unparalleled in the history of personal encounters between a savage and a white man. Roller left home about seven o'clock in the morning, in search of deer. He had ranged along the edge of the mountain an hour or two, when he heard a rifle-shot but a short distance from him, and a minute had scarcely elapsed before a wounded doe came in the direction where he stood. To shoot it was but the work of an instant, because he supposed that one of his neighbors had wounded it; for the thought of the presence of Indians never entered his head. Yet it appears that it was an Indian who fired. The Indian mistook the crack of Boiler's rifle for that of a companion left at the base of the mountain. Under this impression, the Indian, anxious to secure the doe, and Roller, intent on bleeding her, both neglected one of the first precautions of the day,—viz.: to reload their rifles. Roller was leaning over the doe, when he heard the crust of the snow breaking in a thicket near him. He jumped to his feet, and was confronted by the Indian,—a tall, muscular fellow, who was quite as large as Roller. The savage, well aware of the fact that neither of the rifles were loaded, and probably satisfied in meeting "a foeman worthy of his steel," deliberately placed his gun against a tree by the side of Roller's, and, drawing his tomahawk, he cast a glance of savage delight at the white man before him, which seemed to imply that he would soon show him who was the better man of the two. Roller, anticipating his intentions, drew his tomahawk and stood on the defensive. The savage made a spring, when Roller jumped aside, and the Indian passed. The latter suddenly wheeled, when Roller struck him upon the elbow of the uplifted hand, and the hatchet fell. Fearing to stoop to regain it, the savage drew his knife, and turned upon Roller. They clinched, and a fearful struggle ensued. Roller held the savage's right arm, so as to render useless his knife, while the Indian grasped firmly the hand in which Roller held his hatchet, and in this manner they struggled until they were both tripped by the carcass of the doe; still both retained their hold. Roller fortunately grasped his knife, lying beside the doe, with his left hand, and thrust it into the side of the Indian. The struggle now became terrible, and by one powerful effort the savage loosened himself and sprang to his feet; but Roller was as quick as he was. In attempting to close again, the savage stabbed Roller in the shoulder and in the arm. Roller had dropped his hatchet in regaining his feet, and the combat was now a deadly one with knives. They cut and thrust at each other until their buckskin hunting-shirts were literally cut into ribbons and the crusted snow was dyed with their blood. At length, faint with the loss of blood, the combat ceased, by mutual consent, as it were, and the Indian, loosening himself from Roller's grasp, took his rifle and disappeared. Roller stanched, with frozen snow and some tow, the only dangerous wound he had, and managed to reach his home. He was stabbed in four or five places, and it was some weeks before he fully recovered from his wounds. The skeleton of the savage, with his rifle by his side, was found the succeeding summer on the top of Warrior Ridge.
The time of Roller's death is not positively known. Mr. Maguire thought it was in the fall of 1781. From subsequent evidences, three Indians came down the mountain, avoiding the fort of Jacob Roller, Sr., which was located at the head of Sinking Valley, and passed on down through the valley to the house of Bebault, whom they tomahawked and scalped.