China by Harry Alverson Franck — Read

One day I took the train back to Tientsin and down to Tzinanfu, capital of the province of Shantung, the land of Confucius. Grave-mounds of all sizes were thick everywhere along the way, for this is one of the oldest and most densely populated parts of crowded old China. Tzinanfu, with its huge city wall surrounded by a moat in which many of the women wash their clothes, is a mixture of very old Chinese ways and some quite modern ones. Two railways come into it and automobiles may be seen in the wide streets of a suburb outside its wall, yet most of the people still travel as they did hundreds of years ago. Many ride on donkeys and many more in "Peking carts. " As these have no springs, they are very painful vehicles on the terrible roads of most of China. Every time a Peking cart strikes a rut or a stone, the side of the box whacks the passenger, so that unless he puts pillows or quilts all about him he will be covered with bruises at the end of the trip. Only the front of the box being open, the traveler by Peking cart can see little unless he kneels and peers out above the mule's tail. One boy I knew said these strange carriages ought to be called "peek-out carts" instead of "Peking carts."

But the chief Shantung vehicles are wheelbarrows. Hundreds of them go screeching back and forth between the stations and the walled city, some with freight and some with passengers. They are much larger than our wheelbarrows, with a big wooden wheel sometimes as high as a boy ten years old. Different kinds are used in the city and country. The city wheelbarrows have a long benchlike seat with a back on each side of the wheel, and a rest for the feet. They reminded me of an Irish jaunting car. Often I saw one coolie wheeling eight and sometimes ten Chinese women, who, because of their bound feet, could not walk to the factories where they worked. These city wheelbarrows, which are cheaper than rickshaws because more than one person can ride on one, even carry many men passengers.