Chap­ter 29: Cock­neys paints a vivid pic­ture of how igno­rance and speed-focused dri­ving endan­ger hors­es every day. Black Beau­ty observes how some town-bred drivers—often referred to as Cockneys—treat hors­es not as liv­ing beings but as mechan­i­cal tools. These dri­vers are known for push­ing hors­es at a relent­less pace, com­plete­ly dis­re­gard­ing the ter­rain, traf­fic, or fatigue the ani­mals may feel. They rarely use the brake going down­hill, allow­ing the car­riage to press against the horse’s shoul­ders. This reck­less han­dling puts immense pres­sure on the animal’s joints and caus­es unnec­es­sary suf­fer­ing. Black Beau­ty con­trasts these dri­vers with expe­ri­enced coun­try­men who under­stand how to guide a horse with a steady hand and clear judg­ment. He express­es that even a strong horse is vul­ner­a­ble under the hands of some­one who con­fus­es force for con­trol. These city men, lack­ing the sen­si­tiv­i­ty gained through real horse­man­ship, risk the lives of both horse and rid­er.

A trag­ic inci­dent involv­ing Rory, one of Beauty’s com­pan­ions, dri­ves the point home. Rory was matched with a harsh dri­ver who cared only for speed and appear­ances. One busy morn­ing, while rac­ing to out­pace anoth­er cab, the dri­ver refused to slow despite a sharp cor­ner ahead. Rory, unable to man­age the turn, col­lid­ed with anoth­er car­riage and was thrown hard against the pave­ment. Though his injuries were not fatal, they ruined his abil­i­ty to work in lighter har­ness­es. He was sold soon after—to a coal mer­chant. The coal trade, known for its unyield­ing demands and gru­el­ing pace, is con­sid­ered by many hors­es to be a dread­ed fate. Rory’s fate haunts Beau­ty, who knows that all of it could have been avoid­ed with patience and care. In Rory’s down­fall lies a warning—not just for dri­vers, but for any­one respon­si­ble for the wel­fare of oth­ers.

Lat­er, Beau­ty is paired with Peg­gy, a mare whose broad chest and short legs make her strong but unsuit­ed to match strides with taller hors­es. Because she couldn’t keep pace, she was con­stant­ly whipped and shout­ed at. Over time, Peg­gy devel­oped an unnat­ur­al, awk­ward trot—an exhaust­ing, high-step­ping motion she used to avoid the lash. Though her spir­it remained intact, the mis­treat­ment took a toll on her body. Beau­ty could sense how hard she tried, but the expec­ta­tions were nev­er adjust­ed to suit her form. Peggy’s sto­ry reflects the cru­el­ty of forc­ing hors­es into work they’re not phys­i­cal­ly built for. Instead of adapt­ing the work­load, some dri­vers sim­ply increase pun­ish­ment. It’s not weak­ness in the horse—it’s the fail­ure of humans to lis­ten and under­stand.

Black Beauty’s final encounter in this chap­ter is with a young, ner­vous geld­ing who flinch­es at sud­den sounds and shad­ows. Rather than being helped through this fear, the young horse had always been pun­ished for shy­ing. Over time, he began to asso­ciate fear not only with the noise but with the rid­er’s reac­tion. The pun­ish­ment, meant to cor­rect him, only deep­ened his anx­i­ety. Beau­ty lis­tens to his companion’s trem­bling voice as he recalls lash­es that fol­lowed every flinch, even though he nev­er meant harm. This sto­ry cuts deep—revealing how fear, when mis­han­dled, becomes trau­ma. Hors­es, like peo­ple, learn through trust. If that trust is bro­ken by harsh dis­ci­pline, fear can become per­ma­nent. The young horse’s tale stands as a qui­et plea for empa­thy and patience in a world too quick to react.

Togeth­er, these sto­ries form a pow­er­ful com­men­tary on the effects of igno­rance and harsh­ness. They show how well-mean­ing hors­es are pushed into injury, fear, and exhaus­tion not because of fail­ure on their part, but because their han­dlers nev­er paused to under­stand their needs. Sewell uses these nar­ra­tives not to dra­ma­tize, but to educate—reminding read­ers that com­pas­sion must be cou­pled with knowl­edge. A horse’s breed, build, and tem­pera­ment mat­ter, and respon­si­ble care means tai­lor­ing work to the animal’s abil­i­ty. The chap­ter doesn’t just crit­i­cize bad practice—it offers a vision of what could be bet­ter. When dri­vers take time to learn, lis­ten, and adjust, hors­es respond with trust, strength, and loy­al­ty. In this, Sewell argues that true mas­tery lies not in con­trol, but in con­nec­tion. And it’s that con­nec­tion that ulti­mate­ly pro­tects both horse and human.