On January 1st, 1861, the twenty-eight-year-old Henry Heusken resumed keeping the journal that he had abandoned a year and a half earlier. His first entry on that New Year’s day noted that “...the government of Japan has learned of a rumor that five or six hundred ronin, probably of the Prince of Mito, are embittered against foreigners, the reason being that, because of the export trade, the price of food staples is rising constantly, and that they want to burn Yokohama to the ground.” He also reported that Townsend Harris did not “think the matter so serious.”
At the time, Heusken was busy assisting the Prussian government in the negotiation of a commercial treaty that was in most respects identical with the one he had spent so many long months working on since his arrival in Japan. As such, he was a frequent visitor to the Prussian embassy, on the grounds of a temple in the adjacent district of Akabanebashi. Despite the reports of threats against foreigners, he continued to gallivant around Edo on his horse during the day – and became such a common sight among the local populace that his very name, Heusken, had come familiarly to mean gaijin. Francis Hall, another American who had recently taken up residence in the Japanese capital, wrote in his own journal, “Wherever he rode in Yedo he was hailed with shouts of his name, indeed his name had almost become a synonym for foreigner as it would be shouted to any foreigner who passed the streets.” As Harris stewed in his own juices, so to speak, day after day and night after night in the grim confines of the Zenpuku-ji Temple, the young Heusken was having the time of his life.
At around nine o’clock on the evening on January 15th, 1861, Henry Heusken played a final hand of whist at the Prussian Legation and took leave of his host, who was that country’s envoy to Japan, Count Friedrich Eulenberg. The young interpreter mounted his horse and, accompanied by an escort of three mounted guards and two grooms on foot carrying lanterns, he began the short trek back to Azabu Juban. The evening was chilly and a light rain was falling. As the group entered a narrow street near the Nakanohashi Bridge over the Furukawa River, there was a sudden commotion and a flurry of movement in the darkness. Two groups of masked men lunged at Heusken from either side, brandishing swords. By leaning back in the saddle, Heusken managed to avoid the first thrust of the sword, but the second group of ronin hit their mark. Spurring his horse, Heusken galloped ahead for about two hundred yards before the pain became too much. He dismounted and fell to the ground.
“I am dying!” the anguished young man shouted out, as one of the grooms kneeled by his side. A deep gash had been opened on Heusken’s abdomen and it was bleeding profusely. As his retinue dashed off to seek help, the dying man was left alone on the pavement for thirty long minutes. The only sound he could hear was that of his own blood coursing out of his body onto the paving stones.
Finally, at about 9:30 in the evening, a small procession arrived at the Zenpuku-ji Temple, carrying the wounded Heusken stretched out on a door that had been removed from a neighborhood house for that purpose. Those attending to the young man had to carry him through the streets of Azabu Juban with extra care to ensure that his intestines did not spill out of the gaping wound. His shrieks of pain reverberated throughout the neighborhood in the crisp evening air. Harris roused himself from his quarters and watched as the mortally wounded young man, his helper and companion for more than five years, was carried into his room and laid down on the floor. The senior American diplomat immediately dispatched a servant to rush back to the Prussian Legation to seek medical assistance.
When the doctor arrived and began to tend to Heusken’s wound the young diplomat was pallid from the loss of blood. His eyes were sunken. As the wound was sewn, he moaned and asked whether he was going to die. All he wanted to do, he said, was sleep. Once the wound was closed, he seemed to improve momentarily and asked for some wine, which he was given. He thanked the small group that huddled around him, then asked for more wine and water. Fortunately, the legation’s provisions of alcohol on the temple grounds allowed the young man’s last request to be accommodated. Suddenly, shortly after midnight, his condition deteriorated sharply. His breathing became “rattling” — according to the autopsy report led later by the doctor and preserved in the National Archives. With a Catholic priest delivering the last rites, Henry Heusken died.
