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This is a story my Father told me. He was on the USS Apagon (SS308?) for a period during WWII. Before it was sunk as part of the Manhattan Project along with hundreds of other ships and submarines.
Of course the war was going on hot and heavy. Wolf Packs were a common form of deployment and were favored over the single boat deployments. 
This particular patrol was not a Wolf Pack type. 
Diesel boats spent the majority of their time on the surface. Since long submerged periods were not possible like they are today. 
To set the stage a bit... it was 1943 and the Apagon was on patrol off the coast of Japan. It was night and the sub was on the surface. The diesel was running and it was extremely foggy. The QM was attempting to get a sextant reading but was having a great deal of difficulty seeing a star he could identify and keep long enough to get a reading.
While he was waiting the lookout was moved from the periscope shears to the bow since they were having a lot of trouble even seeing the bow. 
He was on the SP phones and after 'feeling' his way to the bow oriented himself to look in the direction of motion. After a while he began looking for a place to sit. Since the boats were kept rigged as a way of being ready for any eventuality the capstan was up and it made for a fine seat. 
With the fog, it was a might cold and the lookout sat on his feet, Indian style, they used to call it. 
As time progressed the lookout began to get fatigued. Looking out into the fog straining to see the bow of an enemy vessel before a collision occurred and get it reported. 
Periodically he would glance back to see if he could still make out the shape of the conning tower in the thick fog and the dark. As the night progressed it seemed to him the fog was getting more and more dense as seeing the sail became impossible. 
He felt all alone out there sitting on the capstan isolated even from view. Every fifteen minutes he made a report over the SP phones: "No visible contacts, no audible contacts". 
Then it happened. He thought he could hear the sound of a hull splashing through the water. But afraid to make a false report and anxious to do the best job he could he strained to hear, and see, what it was so he could make his report and save the ship.
Now he was a bundle of nerves sitting there. Just then he was sure! There it was definitely a ship! He jumped up and made his report into the SP phones "collision immanent, ship dead ahead" the sub almost instantly sounded it's fog horn and that convinced the lookout. It was dead ahead! He turned around 180 degrees and ran full tilt toward the sail. 
Unfortunately, the hydraulics for the capstan drive had not been secured tightly, all the while he was sitting there it had ever so slowly rotated around and he ran as fast as he could right off the bow of his own submarine screaming at the top of his lungs "collision, collision". 
He was recovered uninjured, wet, cold and very humiliated by the Man Overboard Team without further incident.
It was nearly dawn before the QM got a fix on a star and the fog began to lift. 
Thank God for good Sonar techs. and ELM/IFF.