Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea!
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Of the 55 sailors who started in the singlehanded transatlantic sailboat race a month ago, most were still alone, all alone last week, somewhere on the wide, wide sea between Plymouth, England, and Newport, R.I. They were still battling cold and cramp, waves and weariness; still leary of sleep lest their untended craft be run down by a freighter or collide with an iceberg. They were still in danger of drifting aimlessly with broken equipment, or of being...