On awaking, my first thought was to observe the intensity of the light. I was possessed with an apprehension lest the electric light should grow dim, or fail altogether. But there seemed no reason to fear. The shadow of the raft was clearly outlined upon the surface of the waves. Truly this sea is of infinite width. It must be as wide as the Mediterranean or the Atlantic--and why not? My uncle took soundings several times. He tied the heaviest of our pickaxes to a long rope which he let down two hundred fathoms. No bottom yet; and we had some difficulty in hauling up our plummet. But when the pick was shipped again, Hans pointed out on its surface deep prints as if it had been violently compressed between two hard bodies. I looked at the hunter. "Tander," said he. I could not understand him, and turned to my uncle who was entirely absorbed in his calculations. I had rather not disturb him while he is quiet. I return to the Icelander. He by a snapping motion of his jaws conveys his ideas to me. "Teeth!" I cried, considering the iron bar with more attention. Yes, indeed, those are the marks of teeth imprinted upon the metal! The jaws which they arm must be possessed of amazing strength. Is there some monster beneath us belonging to the extinct races, more voracious than the shark, more fearful in vastness than the whale? I could not take my eyes off this indented iron bar. Surely will my last night's dream be realized? These thoughts agitated me all day, and my imagination scarcely calmed down after several hours' sleep. What effect does the word infinite have on the reader’s understanding of the events in the plot?